Easing Boredom
by MilllsC9
Summary: A record low of cases for Sherlock and John to solve, Sherlock get bored and finds a way to ease his irritability.  Sherlock/OFC! It's pretty fluffy as it's most form her POV. Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Old Patterns

" Come up and meet them." said Mrs. Hudson a note of hesitation in her voice. She was bringing her niece, Cecilia, all the way from Canada to live with her and help her with her tenants. Mrs. Hudson recently had had some health problems and she needed an extra pair of hands around the building especially with the tenants upstairs, who refused to believe she was their land-lady and not their housekeeper.

" Should I just leave my suitcases here?" Cecilia asked. She was just banging the last one through the door and into the entrance way. Even though she was not a high maintenance woman, far from it, Cecilia was moving to another country for an extended period of time and she had a number of things she could not live without. She was exhausted and sweating from lugging four large suitcases from the cab. Plus, it had been a long flight and she wasn't too interested in meeting anyone right now.

"Are you sure I shouldn't get settled first and then meet everyone tomorrow?" She suggested hopefully.

"Oh, you must meet John and Sherlock; they're usually very busy and in and out at all hours of the day. We're lucky they're both here right now."

" Fine." she resigned herself.

They walked up the staircase of 221b Baker Street. It was an old building but it was relatively well kept. It was as quaint as it could be, thought Cecilia; dark wood, dark wallpaper that was slightly peeling, creaky and worn wooden stairs. Mrs. Hudson reached the door of the apartment she went to knock but hesitated.

" Don't judge me by the state of this flat. I keep a very clean household myself, but…"

" But what?"

" Well, you'll see."

She knocked on the door and opened it. The sight that greeted them was indeed worthy of the warning. Two men were standing amongst a fluttering of papers and stacks of books. Piles of teacups and plates here and there interspersed with stale bits of biscuits and half full beakers of myriad liquids. Was that a skull on the mantle? Cecilia nearly turned around and the thought of a return flight home didn't sound so bad. The two men were arguing with each other, or rather, one man was arguing and the other was standing quietly with his arms folded across his chest, looking lost in thought. He was a very tall and extremely thin man with a dark mop of hair and piercing blue eyes set above absolutely devastating cheekbones. He wore a long black coat and a blue scarf around his neck. The man who was yelling was shorter, a little older, cute in an average way. He wore a dark jacket and checked shirt.

" 'Allo Gents!" Mrs. Hudson said in a tone of voice that aimed to interrupt the tension in the room.

" Good day, Mrs. Hudson" exclaimed the tall man" a slight bow in her direction, he seemed delighted to have a distraction from the current situation.

" Yeah, Hi…" said the shorter one feeling frustrated by being interrupted but also realizing he hadn't been getting anywhere anyway. He lowered the sheaf of bills that he held in his hands.

" Boys, I want you to meet my niece, Cecilia. She's come all the way from Canada to help me out here. Since you won't stop treating me as a housekeeper, I've gone and gotten you one." She pushed Cecilia in front of her.

"Cecilia, these are my favorite tenants. Dr. John Watson " she said nodding to the shorter man.

" Hi Cecilia, sorry about the place it's a bit of a wreck." He said as he shook her hand.

" Oh, it's not that… well, it is pretty bad…but that's why I'm here." She said, rallying, and smiled.

" And this is the famous Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. He helped me out a few years ago, remember, I told you about Florida?" Mrs. Hudson glowed with pride. John rolled his eyes.

"Cecilia" he said as he took her hand and bent as though to kiss it. He didn't. He only stared intently at her hand. She was unsettled for two reasons. One: no one had ever greeted her in this fashion, it seemed like he had been dropped from another era into modern London. Two: his voice struck her to the core, it was like nothing she had ever heard before. Just hearing her name had given her butterflies in her stomach. He looked at her hand like it was an alien object, like he had never seen anything like it before.

He straightened up and looked at her. She was pretty; she had long dark brown hair and stunning eyes. Her eyes were her best feature, large doe eyes; rich chestnut in colour, and they were ringed with long dark eye-lashes. There seemed to be a great depth behind those eyes; like one could see to the very core of the earth. She had a kind face, even though she couldn't have been more than twenty-five she was beginning to get crinkles at the corners of her eyes; she laughed a lot, and with her whole face. She was curvier than most women he had known; mind you he didn't know that many women. Overall very aesthetically pleasing. This thought, though, was gone in an instant, noted just as the weather outside or any of the other minutia that Sherlock absorbed from his surroundings.

" It's a pleasure to finally meet you." She tried to pull herself together "Auntie has told me quite a lot about you." She said as she pulled her hand back form him.

"Really? What's she told you?" He asked, suddenly animated, bordering on manic.

"Uhmm.. th-that you solve crimes that the police can't." Cecilia faltered, thrown by his abrupt turn of behavior.

"True." He intoned, prompting her to continue.

"That you're brilliant."

"Oh, well done, Mrs. Hudson" he turned to her, smiling.

"And that you are completely insufferable and impossible to live with."

"Fallacy." His smile gone, but his eyes still alight.

"Mmmm, That's seems pretty accurate, actually." Added John, looking up at Sherlock, an easy smile pulling at his face. "So, Cecilia will be our housekeeper?, Mrs. Hudson…"

She felt a little self-conscious as Sherlock kept staring at her and she tried to focus back on the conversation that Dr. Watson and Auntie were having. But she could feel Sherlock's eyes all over her and she pulled at her jacket; trying to make it cover more of her body. She had _always_ been a little self-conscious. Everyone had told her she was attractive, but she felt she was just average. Average height, average weight, if somewhat curvy, average looks. She felt she always just blended into the back-ground, so it was uncomfortable when people stared. She could feel old high school inadequacies flooding back into her brain and she hated herself for it. She tried to remind herself that she was a strong and independent woman, who _was_ sought after. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, it was almost like he could hear her thoughts.

" …hope you can settle in here and don't get too homesick."

Realizing that she was being spoken to Cecilia was flustered. She was silent for a second, but managed to pull together a response. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Dr. Watson." she smiled " I've got family here," she looked at Mrs. Hudson " and I'm sure I'll make some friends."

"Call me, John." He smiled back warmly.

" You have calluses and un-manicured hands." Sherlock interrupted. She recoiled and stared incredulously at him, feeling a little insulted, preyed upon.

"Oh, don't mind him, he does this to everyone. It's like a party trick." Said John in an apologetic tone.

"It's not a trick" Sherlock sighed.

"You see, he's a sociopath." He added pointedly at Sherlock. But trying to insult Sherlock was like trying to hurt the feelings of a brick wall.

" Yes, remember I told you he can read people, and it's like he knows everything about you." Said Mrs. Hudson

Cecilia was brought back to her senses and braced herself for this. Auntie had told her about this proclivity, and she wanted to make the impression that his ability didn't scare her.

" Yes. I have calluses and I haven't had a manicure since my brother's wedding seven years ago."

" You work with your hands, and by you're stance and your handshake you're left handed, and you have traces of pencil lead on the side of your hand. You're an artist. But you have nice clothes, well kept hair and skin and you 're definitely not a starving artist… so you must only do that as a hobby. From your manner and speech you're well educated, blue collar, that's what you must do for a living, but you can afford and are willing to take time off and help your Aunt. I would guess either social services or psychology?

Cecilia could feel the blood rushing to her ears and face. She was embarrassed about that "not a starving artist" remark. But Auntie had warned her about him. He didn't have any social graces; sociopath indeed. It was all part of his process. But why did she feel she needed to win his approval? Something clicked in her head and she realized the only way to come out on top of this situation was to be as emotionally detached as he was.

" Yes," she answered swallowing her embarrassment and anger, and probably with more attitude than the situation warranted. " I have a bachelors in psychology and I'm a research assistant. I've taken some time off because my supervisor is on maternity leave and she's suspended her research until she's back. And yes, I'm also an artist but I've never been financially successful with it." She said as coolly as she could. She tried to distain him. Really, now that she thought about it he hadn't said anything that was too shocking. " Those all seem to be logical assumptions." She tried to dig at him, diminish his abilities.

He paused for a moment too long to not be awkward.

" You had a dachshound when you were growing up that was named," he paused again and raised his hand to his chin, " Mr. Pickles." And he smiled ever so slightly. If you weren't watching very closely one would have missed the slight curling of the corners of his mouth.

Cecilia was taken aback. For all the warnings she had received and as prepared and braced as she had tried to make herself she was stunned. She furrowed her brow and tried to speak… but as he always does Sherlock had read her and left her speechless. Cecilia turned to her Aunt, "You must have told him." She was feeling exposed, unwillingly vulnerable.

" I certainly did not," she paused, "well maybe in passing- years ago. I don't remember exactly what I've said to whom about family." She explained.

" I'm afraid that's just what he does. Don't feel bad. He was worse when he first met me." John consoled her. "You should have heard some of the horrible things he knew about me and my family." He added with a smile and a forced chuckle. He looked down at his feet and squeezed his left hand into a fist before relaxing it.

Well, point one to Sherlock, she thought. Cecilia felt as though she had locked into battle with Sherlock. It was a battle she wasn't sure she would win. In high school she had been the smartest person in her class, valedictorian, and so there hadn't been many boys interested in her. Her friends told her it was because the boys were intimidated by her, because they felt stupid around her. But it's hard, at that age to remain rational and not think it's some massive physical deformity that's keeping the boys away. In college it was a little easier. Everyone was smarter so she fit in better and there were actually quite a few men that were interested. There were even a few men that seemed smarter than her and she was simultaneously attracted to and intimidated by them. In those days when one of those men approached her she would act rather abrasively, wanting to best them somehow, prove to them she was just as smart as them, but possessed more of a complete package. Sherlock was the most intelligent person she had ever encountered and old patterns were quickly asserting themselves.

"I'm afraid you will all have to excuse me. I'm running late for an appointment" Dr. Watson said as he tapped his watch. He moved toward the door with a slight limp. Mrs. Hudson turned after him.

" Oh, before you go, John, I have a few more things to discuss with you." she called as she followed him down the stairs, he voice trailing back up. "…rent will be going up now."

Cecilia had a moment of panic as she realized she was being left alone with Sherlock. It was like being left alone with a snake; a tall, brooding and hansom snake. Sherlock hadn't stopped looking at her since she had come in the door. She knew he was figuring her out, finding little things about her clothing and her stance that meant something about her. She hoped he didn't notice that her heart was racing.

" ummm.." she started not knowing exactly what to say. She tried to muster up some confidence. She remembered some day time T.V. show aimed at bored housewives she had caught when she had been sick with the flu one afternoon. One of the overly made-up hosts had said "fake it until you make it"; trite, but, when considered by the psychologist inside her it was actually sound advice. What more was it than cognitive behavioral therapy? Think it, act it, eventually you will BE it. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She put a smile on her face as all good Canadians can. " Why don't you show me around the apartment, show me what needs attention. Auntie said that it needed quite a bit of work."

Sherlock stared for another moment at her, the suggestion of a smile on his face again. " What does she want you to do, exactly?"

" Well, she mentioned some cleaning," Cecilia shifted her eyes around the room, which seemed to be the only habitable room of the apartment. She could see into a bit of the kitchen and it looked like no one had cleaned it for years. That's an understatement, it looked like someone held an annual mess making competition in it, and a mad scientist had taken the contestants of the mess-making competition and experimented on them and hadn't cleaned up after the experiment had went horribly wrong. " And some shopping, laundry, all the things she does for you…all the things you ask her to do, but you don't pay her to do."

"Why can't she do them?" he said, ignoring her insinuation. She detected a note of apprehension in his voice. It seemed to Cecilia that he didn't trust her. That he didn't want any change in his life. Well, there was definitely going to be a change here. This. Apartment. Was. Disgusting.

"Well, she's your land-lady; it's not her job. But, really, she's been having some health problems, stress induced I'd wager, and she won't be able to do much for the next while. Doctor's orders." Her Aunt's condition was actually quite serious. The recent events of someone targeting Sherlock, taunting him and bombing the apartment across the street had done far more damage to her Aunt than to any property in the area. The doctor had suggested that she sell the building, get as far away as possible; but Auntie had a soft-spot for John and Sherlock and she felt they couldn't get by without her. It was actually perfect timing. Cecilia had needed a change, with her research supervisor and her experiments on hiatus, and that general stagnation in her life. What better use of her time than to care for her Aunt and to get a free trip to London in the bargain.

Sherlock turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen. "This is the kitchen" he gestured, and then realized Cecilia had not followed him in. He turned again and looked at her expectantly. "Well, come in, we don't have all day to stand around, I have more important things to be doing."

" Look, I know you work with the police to solve crimes, and that's very admirable, but you don't have to be rude." She said as she began picking her way across the room towards him.

" I wasn't being rude, I just don't like wasting my time on banality."

" Glad I could make such a good first impression." She retorted sarcastically.

"I wasn't saying, YOU, were boring, just.. cleaning? cooking? Laundry? How do you stand it?

"True, those aren't the most thrilling things in the world but they're necessities; all part of daily life."

"Uhg. Daily life is so mundane. Give me a crime to solve any day." He brought his hands together under his chin. He had turned to the counter and had started adjusting some sort of equipment that looked a little like a still.

" The state of this apartment is a crime you should solve…" she said under her breath. She was nearly at the kitchen and stepping over a rather large pile of very thick books when her foot slipped. The newspapers covering the only foothold she could find had shifted and she lost her balance. She fell forward with a cry of surprise. Before she hit the floor, however, someone had caught her. She found herself being held up in wiry, but remarkably strong arms.

When she gathered her wits she was inches from piercing blue eyes…. devastating cheek-bones…full lips…

"No… absolutely not.", she thought trying to dissuade to herself but it was useless. Why do I fall for this type, he'll never want me. But that was Cecilia all over; forever wallowing in unreciprocated feelings. Not that she hadn't had a few happy relationships, she dated often at home and genuinely enjoyed the men she went out with. But they were always the ones that she knew she had bested; the ones that didn't challenge her. She never got the men that she truly hungered for. They were always married to their work, or saw her as a colleague. She was never the woman that aroused mad passion from them. She decided then and there, still in the arms of this striking and intelligent man, that she would reinvent herself here. She would be that woman who conquered any man she wanted. Sherlock would be hers. If she had ever needed anything in her life she needed to break him; melt his icy exterior.

" Are you alright?" he asked with no real feeling in his voice as he eased her back onto her feet. Though it seemed to her that he might not be asking about loosing her balance. Had he seen the decision made in a split second? He let go of her arms and straightened his coat.

"Yes… um, thank-you for catching me. I lost my balance on this newspaper. Looks like I should start cleaning immediately, make this place _livable_." She stared directly into his eyes, challenging him to respond. She could hear her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. She wondered if he noticed, if he did she hoped he would think it was just the shock of almost falling, and not the thrill of his hands on her.

"I find it just fine like this. I _live_ here, after all". He didn't break his gaze, they had been staring into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever. Suddenly he snapped his eyes away from hers, and turned away walking towards the far end of the kitchen.

A jab. All of her psych classes were beginning to come back to her. She had been a research assistant for so long, engrossed in collecting data, that her clinical diagnostic knowledge was a bit rusty. He's got an ego. He thinks so very highly of himself, and he may be a genius; but I have more tact than he does. She decided to treat him as one of her psychology professors had taught her to treat criminal sociopaths; you have to put everything in terms of what benefits them.

" Just think how much you could accomplish if you didn't have to pick your way through all this everyday?"

He stopped mid-stride to the kitchen window and turned to her, cocked his head, thought for a moment, and nodded. He continued around the kitchen island. Cecilia smiled in satisfaction.

" I sometimes carry out experiments here when I have free time. So be sure to consult me before you touch anything."

" I have been in research for some time now, I_ do_ know the importance of scientific control." She responded slightly affronted.

" Mmm, yes. That will be very useful." Speaking to himself and adjusting a few implements on the counter.

" What in here is experimental?" she asked motioning to the covered counters. There were rotting fruits and crust covered pots; every type of disgusting thing a kitchen could hold.

He surveyed the room. "All of it." He sounded as though it was an obvious statement.

She gave him a hard look.

" It's been a little slow the last while, and… I've gotten a bit bored." He sounded exasperated, and didn't make eye contact. The first chink in the armour she thought.

She smiled and tried to hide it by turning her head. "Is anything ready to be documented, written up, finished?"

He scanned the room carefully. "No."

" You realize how difficult it will be to clean up if I can't actually clean anything up."

"hmmmm, I do see the dilemma, but that isn't my concern." Sherlock then fell silent and began writing notes on a small pad of paper left beside a rotting orange with an overturned water glass on it. There were several fruit flies buzzing around the glass and even more lying dead on the orange. This kept him in rapt attention for several minutes. Cecilia waited for him to continue the tour of the apartment, but soon realized that their interaction was finished.

"I guess I'll just show myself around, then?…" She turned and continued into the, for want of a better word, living room. There was a wall full of bookshelves, a few books pushed haphazardly into them, but mostly empty as most of the books were on the floor. There was a fireplace nearly buried behind stacks of those books. The was a skull on the mantle that looked disturbingly real, a dagger; it's point wedged in the wood was holding a small stack of receipts in place. She could see very small patches of a threadbare Persian rug poking through gaps in the clutter. There was a desk in the corner covered in papers and maps. A worn leather chair was placed in the center of the room facing the door with a side table full of tea dishes and even more books. Along the remaining wall was a couch that looked very old, but comfortable and it had a few blankets strewn across the back of it. She moved down the hallway between the kitchen and the living room to where the bathroom and bedrooms were. The less said about the bathroom the better; Cecilia had never seen mildew recoil from light before. She opened the first bedroom door and was greeted by a welcome respite; a spotlessly clean room! It must be Dr. Watson's room she thought. She closed the door again and walked down to the next door, the other bedroom. She glanced into the living room. Sherlock was sitting in the chair now reading hautily she imagined, though his back was to her. She put her hand on the knob of his door.

"That's my room." He never looked up from his reading.

"Oh. Well, if it's anything like the rest of the apartment I'll need a hazmat suit to change the sheets.

Sherlock nodded, either not listening or not rising to the barb. "I use it for storage. You should be happy- one less set of sheets for you to change." He never looked up from his book.

" Where do you sleep, then?" Cecilia asked, coming into the living room and standing in front of Sherlock.

"Generally I don't. When I'm working I work until the case solved." He let the book fall back on his wrist.

"and when you're not working?" she knew from her Aunt's many e-mails over the last week that Sherlock hadn't been solving cases the last little while. There had been a record low of 'unsolvable' cases for him to be called in on. She had complained many times how irritating Sherlock could be when he was bored.

" He sleeps in that chair, or if he's feeling really adventurous on the couch." Dr. Watson added. He had just re-entered the room. "I forgot my keys. And Sherlock I just got a call from Lestrade. He needs to see you downtown."

Sherlock sighed impatiently, swept up off the chair and left the room.

"Cecilia". Dr. Watson added, and then paused.

"Yes?"

"I hope he doesn't scare you off. He can be horrible, but he is brilliant. Mrs. Hudson is a saint for putting up with him for so long." He opened his mouth again, but shrugged and said goodbye again. And with that she was alone in the apartment. She chose to leave, rather than succumb to the temptation of snooping through Sherlock's room. She needed to unpack anyway, and sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: (meant to put this on chapter 1) I don't own any characters, I'm not making any profit, nor do I intend to.

Authors Notes; would appreciate constructive criticisms as this is my first attempt at writing fan fiction. Thanks!

Chapter 2: Effective Strategy

Cecilia was still tired even though she had had a week of proper sleep. Everyone kept telling her that it would take a few more days to really shake-off the jet lag. She was standing above Sherlock and John's sink, trying to work through the mountain of dirty dishes.

She had already taken care of the piles of books. That had been the first thing she tackled. She had emptied the bookshelves entirely and put the books all back alphabetically by author. Sherlock had not been happy, of course, he ranted about how he couldn't find anything now and that innocent lives were at stake. John was her savior from this, defending her actions. He pointed out to Sherlock that ALL of his books were now actually on the shelves and that he couldn't have found a book that was on the bottom of a pile in the kitchen, and that there were no innocent lives at stake right now, anyway. This expedited their friendship, Cecilia feeling indebted to him. Petulant and territorial as he was Sherlock could see reason. He had even apologized to her. It had been a sterile and cold apology, nothing more than lip service, but John had told her that it was more than he had ever gotten. She had bundled all the newspapers; there were really not as many as there had originally seemed. Sherlock had even ended some of his experiments and had agreed to take the bulk of them to his lab. He called it his lab, but it was really the morgue where he shamelessly manipulated the love-struck pathologist. John had been amazed with the change in the flat, and in Sherlock.

"What's your secret?" he asked her in whispered tones one day.

Cecilia had been lost in thought, scrubbing a casserole dish, when the question reached her. "Pardon?"

" It's just… I've never seen him take anyone else's wishes into consideration before. I've asked him to move these experiments a hundred times." John leaned on the kitchen island and watched Sherlock take another box of beakers and scientific glassware out the door.

She smiled to herself. She _was_ having an effect. " I don't know; maybe he feels bad about Auntie.; he wants to make amends. Even _he_ can't be cruel to sick old ladies."

" hmmm. Maybe…" an audible pause. " or.."

"Or what? You know him better than I do, John." She countered.

"Well…I'm no expert, but…I mean, a pretty girl asks you to do something and not many men would say no." he smiled smugly at her.

She was dressed in some old clothes her Aunt had leant her, she hadn't wanted to ruin her good clothes with the harsh cleansers she needed to use to scourge Sherlock's experiments from the kitchen. She also was wearing a bandana around her hair and rubber gloves. She looked down at herself, then back up at John, "Yeah, I'm a super-model right now. I think there's a better answer, John."

John didn't say anything, but chuckled. This was incredibly strange behavior from Sherlock.

Changing the subject and interrupting his musings Cecilia asked "So, when am I going to get to meet this Sarah that Auntie tells me so much about?"

John blushed, "How much could she have possibly said about her, I think Mrs. Hudson's only met her once."

" Just that she was gorgeous, a doctor just like you, the perfect thing for you…" she listed off all the things her Aunt had gossiped about John's girlfriend.

"You'll get to meet her, soon probably, the way this cleaning is going. I've been embarrassed to have her over. Actually, I've been spending quite a lot of time over there lately; Sherlock is impossible to be around when there are no cases to work. Last time it got like this he got drunk and shot holes in the wall with his revolver."

" Oh, my. Anything I can do to keep him entertained?"

" I don't think that's in your job description." He winked and smiled.

"Not what I meant." She did, but she didn't want John to know that.

"Not that he would be interested anyway. Girls aren't his area" John held up quoting fingers as he spoke.

"Sherlock is gay?" Cecilia asked, privately crestfallen.

"hmmm… I don't think so. He's married to his work, he considers relationships "boring"."

Cecilia was quiet for a time.

" What about you?" John asked changing the topic slightly. "Left any bloke behind pining in the snow?"

She laughed. " No bloke, no snow. It's April, all the snow is gone by now."

"I don't believe that."

" It's true. It's generally very warm this time of year."

"You know what I meant." He responded lazily.

She laughed, and then became a little more serious "No, I haven't had a boyfriend in over a year… I guess I have been pretty focused on work." She resigned herself to the truth.

"Should I ask Sarah if she knows anyone she can set you up with?." He suggested.

" No. Absolutely not, really, that's okay." Nothing was worse than a blind date, in Cecilia's opinion.

"Fine." He said, but sounded like he was going to do it anyway.

They were quiet for a moment, Cecilia scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of…something brown…off a plate. John watched as Sherlock grabbed another box. Sherlock didn't give him much credit for his analytic skills, but Sherlock DID keep him around for a reason. John was an amazing doctor and had skills nearly as good as Sherlock's in observing things. He noticed that Sherlock glanced at Cecilia as he lifted the box and continued to watch her as he walked toward the door. Feels bad about Mrs. Hudson, my foot, he thought.

"So you did research in psychology? Putting rats through mazes and such?

"Not really that type of research, I worked with a criminal psychologist. When she wasn't doing research she assessed if criminals were fit to stand trial. Her research centered around truth detection..." She became so engaged when she talked about psychology and research that John understood how much she truly loved it, and how much she must care about her Aunt to put all of it aside and come here to work as a housekeeper.

" You miss it?" It was more statement than question.

"Well, yes and no. I was an assistant so most of what I did was enter data. Not really the most exciting of things, but we were finding some pretty interesting conclusions. I won't miss the long hours sitting in front of a computer or reading endless articles, or finding results so small that they don't fall outside the margins of error." She sighed, remembering the arduous process of scientific investigation. "It's nice to be able to help Auntie too, though, I'm really happy to be here." She smiled.

"I hope you can keep that enthusiasm."

" What were you two clucking about?" Sherlock approached them.

" Oh, just something human, warm and fuzzy, you wouldn't be interested." Said John sarcastically.

"Quite." He snapped,. "You've just wasted time gossiping whereas I've moved the last of it, all by myself."

" And thank-you, Sherlock. Just imaging how clear your thinking will be without all the mess around." Cecilia praised. She turned and leaned on the counter. A lock of her hair had fallen from the bandana. She had gotten very accustomed to phrasing things in such a way that it always benefited Sherlock the most.

"We need to go set everything up at the lab, John." He didn't seem phased by her comment, but John noticed a little sparkle in his eye.

" 'Lab', right. Well… nice chatting with you, Cecilia. I'll bring Sarah round once it stops smelling like… it does in here." He pushed himself up off the island, and walked towards the door grabbing his jacket. Cecilia turned back to the dishes, ignoring Sherlock.

"Cecilia," Sherlock turned to her, resting his hand on the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room.

"Hmmm?" she didn't look up at him, but continued staring at the counter. Her knees were weak.

"Your welcome." And he dashed out of sight and out the door.

Cecilia thought she had imagined it, but it sounded like he meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Short but sweet , as always I would appreciate all reviews and concrit.

Chapter 3: Nicotine

After another week the apartment was in good shape. There were still some of Sherlock's experiments around but Cecilia didn't mind them. She had even taken an active interest in some of them, reprising her role as research assistant. There were still no cases for Sherlock to investigate and as his boredom escalated so too did his unpredictable behavior. One moment he was sullen and withdrawn, the next he was ranting and storming around the apartment.

Sherlock was apparently in a rather tranquil mood as he was lying on the couch, eyes closed, hands pressed together under his chin, his cell phone held between them. Cecilia was enjoying the quiet of the afternoon as she sipped coffee at Sherlock and John's kitchen table, mindlessly sliding her finger along a deep scratch in the wood. She was going through a stack of mail, sorting out junk mail from overdue bills.

-ding- her phone announced a text message

: Coffee- two sugars

: SH

Cecilia looked at her phone for a second in disbelief. "Really, Sherlock?" She intoned loudly without turning around. " I'm right here… And you didn't even ask nicely." She added rolling her eyes as picked up another piece of mail.

-ding-

: Please.

: SH

She suppressed a smile, as she got up and filled a mug with coffee and added the sugar.

"Are you not speaking today?" she spoke loudly so her voice would carry over the tinking of the spoon against the mug . "I'm not complaining, but my phone is almost dead so I won't be able to do this all day." The threw the spoon down and it clattered in the sink. She walked towards Sherlock with the steaming cup. He didn't move as she stood in front of him. She cleared her throat. He didn't respond.

"Sherlock."

No response, except a barely perceptible twinge at the corner of his mouth.

"I saw that. And you are insufferable" she scoffed, and put his coffee on the floor beside him. She returned to the mail, pulling her chair around so that her back faced the living room. She finished sorting the mail and was just through putting the junk mail into the recycling when she heard her phone ding from the table.

-ding-

: Nicotine patch….please

: SH

" Sherlock Holmes using emoticons?" she made a note to show this to John later; sure he would get a laugh from it. She got the patches from the cupboard and walked over to Sherlock. He was still lying on the couch in the exact same position but the coffee mug was now empty. As she approached he did not open his eyes or make any other acknowledgement of her presence. When she stood in front of him he extended his arm to her, his other hand still held his phone under his chin.

"Sherlock, you're taking this too far." She was a little annoyed that she was being asked to do something Sherlock was more than capable of doing himself.

"hmmm" He flicked his outstretched arm, indicating for her to carry on.

She signed. She had done similar tasks for her research supervisor when she was engrossed in her experiments. Resigned, she knelt down beside the couch. She undid the button holding the cuff of his shirt closed and pushed his sleeve up his arm. She did this more roughly than was strictly necessary, but she was irritated. Noticing the forceful movements Sherlock cracked his eyes open and raised his eyebrow curiously. Cecilia made eye contact with him, trying to convey her displeasure but his ethereal eyes only laughed back at her. She pinched the nicotine patch that was already attached to his arm and pulled it off vehemently; taking pleasure in any discomfort this might cause him and, if she was honest with herself, also enjoying just being able to touch his alabaster skin. The sound of the patch tearing off his arm was loud in the silent apartment and Sherlock flinched ever so slightly, but still smirked up at her.

"Sadist." He said, in mocking tones.

" I do believe you are entering pot and kettle territory, Sherlock." She raised an eyebrow, and smirked back. She picked at the darkened residue left by the adhesive of the patch. He laid quietly staring at his arm, his eyes traveling from her fingers to her mouth; she was biting her lower lip in concentration. He realized that her attention eased his boredom and he let her carry on her ministrations, enjoying her touch. His mind drifted back to the case he had been mulling over. He noticed that his skin was reddening where she pinched and rubbed off the sticky adhesive.

" THAT'S IT!" he suddenly bolted upright. His eyes glowing orbs. He clutched Cecilia's hand, pining it to his arm. She felt gooseflesh rise on her body.

" What?"

" The marks on the corpse! He had been wearing patches, and must have died after taking an old one off and putting a new one on. He had these exact marks on him." He was staring through her. Obviously a huge part of some case had just fallen into place. " I have to change my files."

" What are you talking about, Sherlock. There is no case."

" It was three years ago, a man died in a sauna and if he was using nicotine patches it could have contributed to a natural cause, instead of staff negligence. I have to speak to Lestrade. He was striding toward the door in an instant. Cecilia, momentarily forgotten, was left kneeling by the sofa, her hand tingling from his touch. Sherlock swept out dialing his phone, the door slammed behind him. Cecilia sat for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened. She had definitely taken too much time, enjoying touching him far too much; but he hadn't stopped her, he had even held her hand. Her heart was beating very fast as she stared at the now empty couch. Her musings were interrupted when Sherlock popped his head back into the door.

"You coming then?"

She thought she had missed something. " Where?"

"To the station, I have to talk to Lestrade, and I would prefer to have someone to talk to in the cab and I've been banned from taking my skull."

" I'll be right down." She pulled herself together quickly, grabbed her purse and was nearly out the door when she grabbed a few of the nicotine patches and threw them in her bag. She raced down the stairs feeling giddy and out the door. Sherlock was hailing a taxi and it pulled to the curb just as she caught up. Sherlock opened the cab door and slid across the seat. Cecilia got in and they were off.

After telling the cabby where they were headed he sat back and looked at his arm. His sleeve was still pushed up.

"Damn." He swore softly to himself as he started to roll it back down.

Cecilia put out her hand, stopping him before he buttoned it. He looked up at her questioningly. She took a nicotine patch out of her purse and stuck it to his forearm.

"I'll have to bring you along more often, you're already more valuable than John." He joked and smiled warmly. He re-buttoned the cuff.

Cecilia couldn't contain her own smile.

"So tell me about this case…"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Just want to thank everyone who read and commented, you all made my day! Keep going! To preface this chapter I just want to say that I wasn't 'in love' with it. I knew where I wanted to go, but I felt the journey is a little rough. Would love suggestions for how to improve it.

Chapter 4: Getting Ahead

Sherlock had taken to walking the streets at night. He walked through London all night, and then slept through the day. Cecilia hadn't actually seen him awake in four days. She had spoken to John in hushed tones as Sherlock slept in his chair about this behavior but John didn't seem too concerned about it.

"Enjoy this phase," he warned as he handed her Sherlock's credit card, "the next one involves yelling." They had both wished he was joking. "He needs more patches" John added.

"Anything special _you_ want from the store?" She was doing the weekly grocery shop.

"I could do with some razor blades, and deodorant."

"Boring" she did her best Sherlock impression.

John chuckled, trying to stay quiet. It was lovely to see a smile on his face. Cecilia had noticed a tension around him for the last few days that went above the normal tensions Sherlock caused. She thought things may have been going poorly with Sarah what with him buying new razors and deodorant; maybe he had left them at Sarah's and now he wouldn't be going back for a while.

"What did you and Sarah fight about?"

John looked shocked "Is it just me that can't do that?" remarking on her very 'Sherlock-esque' deduction. Cecilia thought she heard a soft chuckle from the living room.

"She's upset because all I do when I'm with her is complain." His mood was suddenly serious.

Cecilia squeezed his arm in consolation. Suddenly her eyes lit up "Wait right here." She turned and she dashed downstairs. John stood confused for a minute and then heard footsteps pounding back up the stairs. Cecilia blustered through the door with a bouquet of daisies. Her Aunt had given them to her the day before, but she had been too lazy to unwrap them; she had just stood them in a glass of water.

"That's a really, erm, lovely gesture, Cecilia, but men don't really 'like' flowers?"

She gave him look and then spoke as though she were speaking to a child "They're not _for_ you. You're going to give them to Sarah when you go over to apologize."

" I don't think.."

" You're going to apologize and then _not_ complain, and then ask her about _her_ day."

"I'm an idiot." He sighed to himself.

"Yes but you're cute so I think she'll take you back." Laughed Cecilia as she turned and swung her purse onto her shoulder.

She returned sometime later with her arms full of bags. Sherlock had moved to the couch, his back was facing the room and he had a blanket draped over his head.

Well, it was good to see he's alive. She set the bags down on the kitchen table and opened the fridge. She screamed. Cecilia was face to face with…a face. There was a severed head in the refrigerator! She felt dizzy, overcome with shock and revulsion. She felt her knees give out as her vision tunneled. She tried to sit down and simultaneously tried to close the fridge; trying to get something between her and that thing. She faltered and fell. Sherlock was running towards the kitchen as he heard her scream. He had awoken when she came in the door and he remembered, too late, what he had put in there. He reached her just as she collapsed onto the linoleum. With a sigh he knelt down and tried to wake her up, tapping her gently and calling her name.

"Cecilia?" He called quietly. At this range he could not help but notice her perfume. She began to come to, blinking her eyes.

"Sh-Sherlock?" Her mouth was dry and she felt nauseous. "There's a head in the fridge." Her voice tremulous.

"Correct but not a particularly groundbreaking statement." He put her arm around his neck and lifted her up off the floor. He took her into the living room and put her down on the couch. He picked up a blanket and draped it around her shoulders.

"This is good for shock."

"I've never fainted before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything." He tried to make his voice jovial, but his eyes were worried.

Cecilia's head was still a little fuzzy, she rested her head in her hands, pressing into her eyes with the heel of her palm. She lost track of time, the next thing she knew there was a glass being pressed to the outside of her fingers. She looked up at the tall man holding out a glass of water. She took it and drank it down realizing how thirsty she was.

"Is there anything stronger?" she asked after she swallowed.

"I think I can find something." He went to his bedroom door, Cecilia had never seen him touch that door up until now. He was gone for a few seconds then he came back out with a bottle of red wine. He stopped in the kitchen and opened the bottle, leaving the cork on the corkscrew. He grabbed a wineglass on his way back to the couch. He filled the glass as he walked and handed her the glass before sitting down in his chair. He watched her as she downed the wine almost as quickly as she had drunk the water. He absentmindedly sniffed the bottle. She had the last sip from the glass and he was up, he grabbed the glass from her hand, his fingers brushed hers slightly. He filled the glass and then handed the bottle to Cecilia. He took the glass with him and returned to his chair. He picked up a notebook and sipped the wine before setting the glass down on the side table. He began to write. They sat in silence until Cecilia had finished another quarter of the bottle. Her head was now pleasantly fuzzy. The disturbing image of the severed head, gaping up at her, white cataract eyes open and staring, starting to blur and fade.

" What else do you know about me?" she asked, inhibitions lowered.

Sherlock hesitated, setting the pen and notebook down in his lap. "No."

"You know you want to."

Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Based on how you reacted to… my experiment you're sensitive, too sensitive, you let all the problems around you become part of you. But that helps you get into people's heads. People open up to you, and you _help_ them." He spoke as if this was a shortcoming.

"That's not a weakness." She felt defensive, but she asked for this.

"I never said it was."

"You implied it." She was finding it easier this time not to become emotional. The wine was helping.

He sat quiet for a moment and then continued. "You have low self-esteem and you think if your always prepared for a situation no one will have an excuse to judge you. You're more astute than most people I've met; more astute than you let on….. the irony being that you're desperate to _prove _just how intelligent you are.

The wine numbed the sting of his words, not that they were malicious, but too true. She was drunk, but that wonderful stage of drunk where your thinking seems electric. Maybe it's that you're just more willing to say the things that pass through your mind. "We're a lot alike, then."

"A difference being that you're _afraid_ to show how intelligent you are, terrified how people will react. This can only be bred by a bad experience in your formative years. Yes? Boys in school didn't like you because you were smarter than them. So you've changed your approach over the years, learning to hide your deductions behind questions. You're _humble._" He said the last word as if it were dirty, every bad connotation of the word resounding in her ears.

"And you're arrogant." She shot back quietly.

" That's not a weakness." He grinned and winked at her before continuing. "You've lost six pounds since you've arrived; you haven't been eating properly. You haven't had any pencil or paint on your hands since the day I met you; something is bothering you. Something big as it's interfering with both your eating habits and your creative process. It's more than just adjusting to somewhere new, it's…" He stopped short when her eyes flicked up to his. Her pupils were dilated and her cheeks flushed. He was close to something…then again, perhaps, it was just the wine.

He was about to continue when John opened the door to the flat, humming under his breath. The smile on his face fell as he took in the surroundings.

"What happened?" he asked Sherlock accusingly as he took off his jacket

"Nothing. Made up with Sarah, then?"

"There is a head in the fridge." Cecilia annunciated very carefully, but she was beginning to slur her words slightly.

"Tattle-tale." Sherlock mumbled as he once again picked up his notebook and scribbled something down.

"What, again?" He turned his head back and forth from Sherlock to her.

She took another long drink from the bottle. She shuddered slightly. She continued gulping from the bottle until it was empty. The images were floating back up in front of her eyes, she shut them tightly trying to squeeze the images away.

Sherlock, still taking notes, raised his eyebrows; surprised by how quickly she finished the bottle. John stared at him in exasperation waiting for Sherlock's attention, but he never looked up form his notes.

" Doing another experiment on the coagulation of saliva after death?" John yelled sarcastically. He was upset that they would probably loose Cecilia, a person who had proven able to deal with Sherlock thus far.

"Don't' be silly, John. I'm measuring the rate of ocular decay in a controlled climate."

"And you had to use our fridge?"

"Well, human heads don't come along every day, " he looked up a John in all innocence "at least ones that are detached. And the cooler at the morgue was full. What should I have done?"

"I don't know," John started to walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water "maybe _not_ bring human body parts home and store them beside the lettuce." Sometimes there was no arguing with Sherlock. "Although it is better than the microwave." He called. "Why are you just sitting there watching her drink?"

"I'm running a secondary study of the stages of inebriation after a traumatizing experience in young women."

" How fortuitous." Sarcasm dripped off his words.

" Quite:" Sherlock replied, ignoring the sarcasm, and smiling slightly.

" Are you alright?" John asked her as he came back into the living room. He bent down putting his free hand on her shoulder, rubbing it as if to warm her.

" I will be." And then she smiled and her whole face lit up. "You had a nice evening with Sarah?" She motioned to her own neck. She was indicating that John had a mark on his nick, a slight bruising on the hollow of his throat. John stood up abruptly. He was embarrassed that Cecilia knew of his rather gratifying reconciliation with Sarah.

"I need ice." He needed an excuse to get out of the room.

"She's quite entertaining in this state, John."

" You're a horrible person, Sherlock." He retorted.

Sherlock waved the insult away and continued writing in his notebook.

" Is it wrong that I hope there's some atrocious murder so you'll have something productive to do and you can stop treating her as a guinea pig?" John yelled from the kitchen. When he opened the freezer there were two severed fingers lying on top of a bag of peas. He was thankful Cecilia hadn't seen them as well. He grabbed some ice and closed the door.

"You and I, both, John." Answered Sherlock, staring into space.

"Okay, new flat rule: No experiments in the fridge anymore…"

Sherlock returned to his writing. "Fine." He agreed reluctantly.

"Or the freezer."

Sherlock raised his head remembering that particular experiment. He looked falsely chagrined. "Testing frost accumulation…" he began but John interrupted.

"I swear. I can't leave you alone for an evening without you getting into trouble." John walked toward his room. "Behave!" He warned and he slammed his door. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'll move everything tomorrow, John." Sherlock acquiesced.

"Now, then, where were we?' he asked Cecilia. When she did not answer he looked up at her and a something softened his expression. Cecilia had slumped back on the couch, breathing deeply and steadily. Sherlock made a final note in his book and set it aside. He took a large swig from the glass of wine on the side table. "Behave." Sherlock mused to himself. With a sigh he got up from his chair and quietly walked over to the couch. He fluffed a throw pillow and placed it back against the arm of the couch. He hunkered down in front of Cecilia, taking the opportunity to study her face without those dark perceptive eyes distracting him; laughing and mocking him with carefully raised eyebrows. When he looked into those eyes he had the distinct impression that she could see right into his head and watch every thought flicker past. It was not a notion he felt safe with, but then again when had he ever enjoyed the safe life. He gently pulled her forward until she was leaning on him, her head lolling on his shoulder. Her lips grazed his neck. They were so warm they felt as though they were searing his skin. His stomach lurched.

"It's you." She whispered still asleep.

Sherlock froze momentarily, replaying the night's conversation in his head. He laid her down on the couch as he thought. He pulled another one of the blankets from the back of the couch and covered her up. He turned the lights off in the flat and returned to his chair, grabbing the glass of wine as he sat down. He did not fully understand what was happening, and that worried him. It was foreign territory. He did realize, though, that he wasn't bored anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Importance of Morning Coffee

Cecilia opened her eyes in the weak morning light and shut them again quickly in reaction to the shooting pain. She hated her past-self for drinking almost an entire bottle of wine. Her mouth felt disgusting. She took stock of her surroundings. Had she really passed out on Sherlock's couch? How embarrassing. She opened her eyes again, bracing for the throbbing headache the light caused. Sherlock was sleeping sitting up in his chair. She hoped he hadn't watched her sleep. She knew she didn't look like an angel when she slept, especially if she had passed out. She didn't remember much of the last night beyond opening the fridge door. Thankfully the images that had caused her to faint were no longer so quick to come to mind, and when they did they were not nearly as repulsive. The wine, though paining her today, had served its purpose. She quickly got up, stooped with the weight of a hangover. Cecilia just wanted to shower and lie down on an actual bed. She looked at her watch; it was late. She would have to settle for just the shower. Cecilia quietly opened the door went downstairs to her Aunt's apartment.

Sherlock awoke a few minutes later. He looked to the couch and was surprised to find he was disappointed that Cecilia was no longer there. He got out of his chair. His back was sore but he was accustomed. He set to removing the head and fingers from the refrigerator, putting them into a canvas grocery bag. He grabbed his jacket and strode out of the flat. He was going to take everything to the morgue where he could dispose of it without arousing a police investigation.

When Sherlock returned later in the morning Cecilia was in the kitchen, putting away the groceries from the day before. She hadn't heard him come in. He softly stepped into the kitchen and leaned on the island. Cecilia was bent over, trying to find a place for the package of tomatoes. She had put on fresh clothes after she showered downstairs; a silky camisole, a cardigan, and her favorite pair of jeans.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked quietly after he had seen enough.

Cecilia jumped and whipped around. "You scared me, Sherlock!" she would have yelled, but she knew John wasn't up yet and she didn't want to wake him.

"I'm sorry." He laughed, not apologizing at all. She scoffed at his playfulness, it was unusual for him to be acting this way, but she enjoyed it.

"Thank-you for… taking care of me last night." She looked down coyly.

" Not a problem… It was the least I could do, I suppose. John said I should be sorry I put a head in the refrigerator."

She nodded, accepting what she knew was an apology. "I thought you found all these civilized niceties boring?"

" Excruciatingly dull." His eyes alight. Cecilia poured a cup of coffee, two sugars, and set it in front of him. He took a sip.

John opened his bedroom door and walked out with his housecoat on. "Morning you two." He looked from one to the other wondering if anything had happened the night before.

"Morning, John. Coffee?" Cecilia asked him, a little too brightly.

" Please. You're certainly feeling well." He said as he took a seat at the kitchen table and pulled a newspaper towards himself. "I don't know if I would be feeling as chipper if I had drank and entire bottle of wine after fainting." He added.

"A hot shower and a cup of coffee can do wonders."

"Sherlock, did you take care of…everything?" John asked.

He did not answer immediately, distracted, but he came back to the moment "Of course."

" Ladies and Gentleman, the great Sherlock Holmes performs a household chore!"

Cecilia laughed out loud and clapped. "Oh! John, I forgot to tell you! Sherlock sent me a text with a smiley-face emoticon in it."

John laughed in disbelief. "My god, Sherlock, what's gotten into you?"

Sherlock, not amused, turned away and retreated to his chair. "It's irritating when you two gang up on me." He called in.

"Never, ever, leave." John said to Cecilia with laughter in his eyes and sincerity in his voice.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Running in the Rain

John had to work two shifts the next day and he was gone early in the morning. Cecilia came in late, nearly noon, and Sherlock was in a mood. He was in his pajamas and housecoat lying across his chair with his long legs dangling over one arm and his head resting over the other. There was a small array of open books on the floor along with his violin. Cecilia figured this might be a difficult day. She sighed as she went into the kitchen.

"Good morning." She said sweetly.

"Is it?" he spat contemptuously.

"Well, for a few more minutes anyway." She answered trying to make a joke and looking at her non-existent watch.

"Are you being dense just to bait me?"

"Okay," letting her annoyance into her voice. "You're bored." She wanted to add _"I get it"_, but that wouldn't make matters any better.

"Oh, what a deduction!"

"Stop." She said it loudly and defiantly. It was a technique that was sometimes used on those with anxiety disorders; sometimes it snapped them out of escalating spirals of thought. Cecilia often used it on herself when she became overwhelmed. It actually seemed to work on the sociopath too, she remarked. His whole demeanor changed from aggressive to wistful. "So you've read a few books, you've played your violin…"

"mmmm. Tiresome."

She turned on the water in the sink, about to wash the few dishes that had built up from yesterday. "Why don't you watch T.V. or got o a movie?"

"Predictable, pedestrian, pedantic…"

" Petulant." She added about his behavior.

He sighed melodramatically. Cecilia shook her head; for all his brilliance he sometimes acted like a teenager.

"Why don't you tell me about some of your old cases?" He had seemed to enjoy it when he had expounded about the sauna case in the cab. "I can even try to guess how you solved it, try out my own deductive skills." She lilted, smiling over her shoulder.

This got his attention. Not only did he love rehashing old cases but also he found people's attempts at what he did amusing. That was part of what endeared John to him. He sat up and turned in his chair so that he was facing her, his mind working quickly. "Care to make it interesting?"

"Um, sure, what are the stakes?" she asked a little taken aback.

" Winner decides."

" That could be trouble." She said to the dishes.

" Not unless you lose."

"Okay, deal." She fought a smile and scrubbed a plate even though there was nothing on it.

Sherlock got up and went to his filing cabinet under his desk and rifled through the files. He pulled one after another and finally settled on one. He brought it back to his chair. Sherlock sat quietly for a moment with it open in his lap. " This is an old case, it happened years ago. I haven't published it anywhere so don't think you'll win because you've read it on my website."

"How do you know I've read your website?"

" I checked your browser history."

"How did you get onto my computer? It's got a password." She asked, confused and a little worried.

"I'll give you credit, your password was harder to crack than John's; yours took me a full half an hour." He inhaled deeply and tented his hands in front of his mouth, ignoring her sputtering sounds of indignation. " I received an e-mail one day from a recently remarried man. He was seeking my help with the disturbing incidents surrounding the deaths of his second wife and their infant. The man was an animal control officer who had a 15-year-old son from his previous marriage. The son was on medication for severe attention deficit disorder. "

"How severe? She interjected. She remembered studying the axis one DSM disorders and knew there was a hierarchy to the disruptive and attention deficit disorders.

He narrowed his eyes. "Let me finish and then you can ask your questions."

"Sorry." She rinsed the last dish and put it in the drying rack. She turned and leaned on the counter as she dried her hands with a dishtowel. Sherlock continued.

" The son and his new step mother reportedly had a very turbulent relationship with many shouting matches. After the second child was born one of these incidents escalated to violence; the son was admitted to the emergency room after being hit with a lamp.

The nanny, who had been hired when the husband noticed some signs of post-partum depression, reported that just before she died the mother had been sucking on the baby's neck. The infant even had a puncture wound. The nanny said the mother then had trouble breathing and complained of abdominal pain and nausea. Both mother and baby then fell unconscious and stopped breathing." He finished without feeling. "Now you asked how severe the son's disorder was?"

Cecilia willed herself to remain emotionally distant from the case, though she did feel a twinge of sadness over the whole horrible story. She tried to see the whole case clearly. "Ummm, do you know his diagnosis?"

"His psychiatrist diagnosed him with 'Oppositional Defiant Disorder'"

"That explains that shouting and the violent incident happening right after the baby was born. Children with that level of disorder can be extremely difficult to discipline, especially if there are step-mother tensions and a new baby usurping the sons place in the father's life, but he was medicated…"

"The nanny did say he resisted the medication; often going for days without it."

Cecilia thought for a moment, there was something odd about the symptoms the mother and infant had when they died; they both just stopped breathing. "Was the mother on any medication, anti-depressants? Maybe the mother overdosed and it got into the breast milk?"

"That's a plausible answer but the mother wasn't on any medication. She was never officially diagnosed with post-partum depression and never received treatment.

" They had a similar cause of death, but the mother had more pronounced symptoms." She thought out loud. "It sort of sounds like they were poisoned…but the mother sucking on the baby's neck…that's just weird."

"Very." Sherlock agreed; his eyes alight.

Cecilia tried to expand her mind, tried to take in every detail. She began pacing around the kitchen, running the dishcloth through her fingers. She kept thinking back to all the episodes of all the crime shows she had ever watched; this had such a familiar shape to it. It was almost like she could see some 'wind-breakered' investigator at the house, looking at some innocuous implement and it suddenly being put in the right context. Something was nagging at her. "What did the father do for a living again?"

Sherlock tried to hide a smile. "He was an animal control officer."

"Did he bring home his equipment every night?" She asked.

"Yes."

"Did he have a tranquilizer gun?

"Yes."

"The son shot the baby with the gun, the mother tried to save the baby by removing the dart and trying to suck out the tranquilizer, like you would with a snake bite. She swallowed some of the tranquilizer but there was still too much in the infant's bloodstream so the baby, essentially, overdosed. The mother ingested the tranquilizer, which has much more serious effects, even in small doses, when swallowed." She finished with a sad smile. This was the type of thing he encountered on a regular basis; she then understood what a benefit his sociopathic tendencies were.

Sherlock sat quietly for a time; he didn't make eye contact with her but she waited patiently to see if she had figured it out. "Well?"

"Congratulations." He looked up, a smile just playing at the corners of his mouth.

"That means I win the bet!" She bunched up the dishtowel and threw it at Sherlock. "Wait until John hears about this."

"How did you figure it out so quickly?" Sherlock was unaccustomed to anyone else being able to deduce as well as he could.

"Do you want the honest answer?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

"Why would I want to waste my time on anything else?"

"I think they did something very similar on an episode of C.S.I." she hid her smile behind her hand.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He closed the file and got up to put it back in the filing cabinet. "What do claim as your prize?"

"Hmmmm, maybe I'd like to lord this over you for a while..." she said playfully. "But I think I'd rather claim it now. Take me out to lunch; the only time I've gone out in London so far is to do errands.

"I won't be good company, I never have been."

"You're better than Yorick over there." She said as she motioned to the skull on the mantle.

"Okay, lunch it is." He sighed. Sherlock didn't like owing anything to anyone.

" Fantastic!" She looked at her watch. "Let me go change and then we can go?"

"Why do you need to change?"

Cecilia was wearing old jeans and an oversized tee shirt, perfect for cleaning but not much else. "I'm not dressed for a date, Sherlock… and neither are you." She whisked out of the apartment.

"Who said this was a date?" he yelled after her.

Ten minutes later Cecilia walked back up the stairs. She had put on a forest green knee length shirt-dress. It was fitted in all the right places and if she left that one button unbuttoned it was rather revealing, though still appropriate. She fiddled with her hair, touched up her makeup and left her Aunt's apartment feeling on top of the world. She went back upstairs and opened the door. Sherlock was standing by the mantle, dressed in black trousers and a dark purple shirt. He had the skull in his hand.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Alas…" He began sarcastically but then stopped when he actually looked at her. She was beautiful, but he knew that, technically speaking, already. He concentrated and allowed himself to 'feel' the attraction. It was like there was a magnetic pull between them. She was looking right at him, fully aware of what he did and all that he saw, and was still smiling. He fumbled with the skull and nearly dropped it. He put it down on the mantle forcefully, making a loud bang. "You look very nice." He said very seriously.

"Thank-you. You too." She felt anxious; like butterflies all over her skin. "So, what are you in the mood for?" she asked.

He stared at her for a second too long, wondering how the tables could have shifted so much with the addition of a green dress.

"Italian, Chinese…Indian?" She prompted.

"Italian." He didn't really feel like eating anything, but he heard the emphasis she put on that choice and knew that's what she would prefer. "I know a place just around the corner." _Pull yourself together_ he told himself; once again regaining the emotional lock-down he normally existed in. He put on the black jacket that went with his suit and they headed out the door.

When they arrived at the restaurant an older man greeted them warmly.

"Sherlock! It's been too long since we've seen you! Come in; you can have the best table in the house!" He showed them to a booth in the front of the restaurant right in front of a window. He handed them some menus. "And you know, Sherlock, it's all on-the-house as always."

" I helped Angelo out of a jam a few years ago." Sherlock explained to Cecilia.

"Proving someone innocent and keeping them out of jail? That's unlike you." She responded looking at the menu.

"Oh, he went to jail; I proved that he was breaking and entering rather than killing three people with an axe."

" Three years instead of thirty." Angelo intoned as if he said it quite often. "So, what can I get you and your date to drink, some wine?"

"It's not a date, I lost a bet." Sherlock answered quickly.

" Some wine would be lovely." Cecilia answered, somewhat dejected.

" Ah, lucky man. This one's much prettier than your last date." He winked at Sherlock. "I'll be right back with a nice soave I just got in."

"Your last date?" she asked barely controlling a laugh.

"He means John." Sherlock deadpanned. Cecilia looked at him questioningly, her eyebrow rose in that mocking fashion that irked him so. "We were on a stake-out."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" she responded acerbically.

"How clichéd." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

When Angelo came back Cecilia ordered a caprese salad, Sherlock ordered risotto. He left the bottle of wine on the table and when Sherlock did not make a move to pour Cecilia took the lead. She filled Sherlock's glass and then her own. Sherlock was distant, staring out the window. Cecilia was trying very hard to enjoy herself; it being her first time out-and-about in London, not –to-mention with the man she was infatuated with. But Sherlock's adamant denial that this was a date was cracking through her façade of confidence. She sipped her wine; it _was_ very good.

"What were you staking out?" she asked, her voice seemed loud and awkward in the quiet restaurant. Not many people out for lunch today.

" Turned out to be a taxi."

" Oh! Yes, a 'study in pink', I remember. John didn't mention you two having dinner together."

Sherlock inwardly grimaced, knowing the choice words John had used to describe him in that write-up. "He was the only one who ate. I don't eat when I'm working; digestion slows me down."

"You must work a lot."

"Well, not lately," he muttered angrily, "there's something wrong with this city."

" The fact that people are _not_ killing each other in undecipherable ways is _wrong_?"

Sherlock fell silent, lost in thought.

Angelo returned with their orders and they tucked into their meal. It was delicious. Cecilia realized she had never actually seen Sherlock eat anything before. She knew he _must_ eat something, but around her thus far he had only consumed coffee, wine, and nicotine. So…he hardly ate anything when he _wasn't _working either. She shook her head. She loved food and she was an excellent cook, she couldn't imagine going days with only coffee and a nicotine patch. Cecilia again felt the burden of carrying the conversation.

"What would you have chosen if you had won the bet?"

Sherlock chewed carefully for a moment and swallowed. "Well, there is this study on spiders that I wanted to do."

Cecilia's stomach fell and she balked. She had a phobia of spiders and she could just imagine the big hairy type that Sherlock would probably want. Sherlock saw her expression and laughed. "Don't worry, though, _you_ won."

Relief washed over Cecilia; she was thankful she would not have to be on the lookout for spiders in the future.

As they finished eating the clouds began to build up. Cecilia peered out the window at now dark grey and ominous sky.

"I didn't bring my umbrella either." Stated Sherlock and drained the last of the wine from his glass. She hadn't said anything about the rain, or about not having an umbrella, she had been about to but now she didn't want Sherlock to know that.

" That's why people hate talking to you. You jump ahead in conversation"

" Why should everyone waste time saying things that everyone knows already? It's like a script to the most boring play on earth!"

"That's how society works, Sherlock, pleasantries and idle conversation grease the wheels of society." The first heavy raindrops began pattering across the window as she spoke.

-dingle dingle-

Cecilia's phone rang. She looked at the caller ID; it was her Aunt.

"Sorry, I wouldn't normally answer on a…"

"Go ahead. It's Mrs. Hudson. It's important…and it's not a date." Cutting her off.

"You're doing it again." She said bubbling. "Hi, Auntie!" She answered the call happily. "What's wrong?" her voice fell as she listened to her Aunt on the other end of the call. "Okay…we'll figure it out. I'll be home in a few minutes." She looked at Sherlock; she was upset. "I have to go. Bad news from the doctor." She got up and left quickly, rushing out into the rain.

Sherlock was disappointed with himself, he hadn't made the right impression. He was now also worried about Mrs. Hudson. She was a doddering old lady but he did have a sweet spot for her. He admonished himself for getting into the emotional lives of the people around him. It was maddening, and he really felt that his brain was beginning to rot.

-ding-

: unlike you to not offer your umbrella to a lady

: mummy would not be proud.

: Mycroft

Sherlock was up from the table in a flash and out the door into the pouring rain. Mycroft had been watching them. He would probably try to approach Cecilia; propose she give him information for money. Sherlock took the route he knew she would take back to the flat. Within a few minutes he could see Cecilia ahead of him. She was running! He looked around wildly for Mycroft's luxury car. He had scared her and she was running from what she thought was a threat. A ball on anger suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach. It spurred him to run faster.

Cecilia reached the awning over 221's door when she heard the splashing footsteps behind her. She turned quickly, thinking she was about to be accosted by muggers… or worse. Her breath caught in her throat as Sherlock was suddenly in front of her, very close to her. His hands were on her shoulders and his eyes were wide with fear and worry; he was breathing hard from running after her.

"Are you alright, what did Mycroft do?"

Cecilia was utterly confused. She took a moment to try to figure out what Sherlock was talking about but she couldn't. Who was Mycroft? What did Sherlock assume he had done to her? "Sherlock! What are you talking about?"

"Why were you running?"

"It's raining. I read once that you get less wet if you run when it's raining." She explained feeling foolish. She was still confused as to why Sherlock was so upset.

He stared at her in disbelief but his panic had abated. If she had been spooked by Mycroft she certainly didn't show it. He started to laugh, more out of relief than anything else. Though Mycroft was still obviously trying to meddle in his affairs he hadn't succeeded…yet.

Cecilia was wrapped up in the moment. She was still short of breath. The rain was falling heavily all around them. They were safe, isolated under the awning of the building in their own little bubble. Sherlock was standing so close to her she could see the droplets of water that clung to his hair. When he laughed, really laughed, deep lines around his mouth formed and his luminous eyes sparkled.

"Sherlock?" She asked, as she slid her hands up his chest. "Have you ever done something crazy?"

"Like running in the rain?" He answered, no longer laughing and a glint of fear in his eye.

"No." she whispered as she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to her. In a moment of uncharacteristic brazenness she kissed him. Her heart was beating so loudly she could no longer hear the rain.

Sherlock's mind went blank as she pressed her warm lips against his. He felt that familiar lurching feeling in his stomach, but so much more powerful than it had been two nights ago. He couldn't remember such a soaring sensation since university, where he had discovered stimulants other than coffee and cigarettes. Some primal part of his brain took over and told his lips to kiss back. He wanted to slide his hands from her shoulders; one to the small of her back and the other to twine in her damp hair. Too soon, however, she was pulling away, a void left behind that Sherlock was sure had not been there before.

"I have to check on Auntie." She dashed in the door and disappeared into Mrs. Hudson's flat before he could speak.

-ding-

Sherlock didn't look at his phone, he knew it was Mycroft texting him as simultaneously a black town-car was rolling past him on Baker street; he didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction. Sherlock turned and slammed the door behind him. He walked up the stairs to his flat. Curiosity killing him he looked at his phone

: can't wait to meet her

: Mycroft

Mrs. Hudson was not well. She had just returned from her doctor and had some bad news for Cecilia. When she opened the door to the flat Mrs. Hudson screwed up her courage and blurted out what she had to say. "I'll be going out of town, to Rupert and Alice's"

"Why? Cecilia was dripping as she entered her Aunt's apartment. She had so much concern in her voice that Mrs. Hudson nearly teared up.

"Dr. Wellington said that I'm not getting any better, he said I had to get away from this place for a while." She couldn't keep the distress out of her voice and it wavered.

"Oh, Auntie!" Cecilia bent down and gave her Aunt a hug while she was sitting. "I was so worried! That's fine. I can take care of everything here, that's why I came. Don't even worry about it."

"I'm so lucky you came, Cecilia." She said while her eyes misted.


	7. Chapter 7

Re-affirmation of Disclaimer- I own no characters, places, or stories referenced within. They belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The only gain I seek to make from writing this is for my own enjoyment.

A/N: Soooo, I made a mistake in naming the last chapter when uploading it. Chapter 6 is rightfully called "Running in the Rain". I jumped the gun…I swear that's never happened to me before. (ha ha). As always I would love feedback, gives me a kick to see people making this a 'favorite' and reviewing it. Thank-you lovely people! Also if anyone is interested; the case discussed in chapter 6 is pulled from "The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire" by Doyle's _The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes_. "The Adventure of the Lion's Mane" from the same work is referenced in this chapter.

Chapter 7: Bare Feet

Sherlock hit the delete key on his phone vindictively as he opened the door to his flat. Mycroft always seemed to know his business and he particularly didn't want Mycroft knowing _this_ business. John was still at work; the flat was empty and quiet. The only sound was the soft patter of the rain against the windows. The light was diluted by the blanket of grey clouds that had moved over the city. Under normal circumstances this would have been the optimal conditions for thinking about a case. His mind, uncluttered, would be able to expand to see all the minute details that hung together in only one way. Today, with no case to mull over, and with this sudden…interesting….development, he was antsy. He could not stand the silence. Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play but it couldn't hold his attention for more than a few minutes. He tossed it and his bow onto the couch. Sherlock paced the room running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't stop thinking about the feel of her lips on his and the smell of her dewy hair. With a frustrated grunt of self-abhorrence he grabbed his skull off the mantle and stormed out of the apartment.

Cecilia was busy baking that afternoon. She was sad that her Aunt would be leaving in the next few days; they had grown extremely close in the short time she had been here. And she didn't feel she was ready to be living _alone_ in a big city; a big, confusing, and loud city. She tended to bury these feelings of inadequacy by doing something that she was skilled in. Right now that was baking her famous butterscotch cookies. She thought, at the very least, John would enjoy them. After they cooled she loaded up a plate and headed up to 221b. She knocked on the door but no one answered. This was not that unusual as John was the only one who answered the door and he had been working at the clinic more and more lately. Cecilia tried the door hoping that Sherlock was still home; she needed to measure how he reacted; she wanted to know if she had played her hand too soon. The door was unlocked! Her stomach clenched and she swallowed hard. It was all for nothing, however, as the apartment was empty. Sherlock had left the door unlocked. Cecilia shook her head; Sherlock never did see the importance of all the little things like locking one's doors, or often even closing them. She put the cookies on the counter and grabbed the pad by the phone. She wrote a note to John letting him know that the cookies were for him. She turned and surveyed the empty, and now clean and tidy, apartment. It was still raining and the streetlights illuminated the rivulets of water running across the windowpanes. Sherlock, surely, was avoiding her; she had been swept up in the moment and had ruined everything. She saw his violin lying on the couch. She sat on the couch and picked it up, holding it the way she had seen Sherlock hold it, thinking somehow this would bring him closer to her. She felt silly, she hadn't acted this way since she was in high school, crushing on celebrities and collecting posters from magazines. Morosely, she put the violin away in its case. She stared at the windows for a few disappointed minutes and then resigned herself to another night of watching television and then falling asleep reading in bed; and, if she were being really honest, there would probably be many similar nights to follow.

-ding-

Cecilia was confused. She had been woken up out of a deep sleep by her phone. Groggily she looked at the damned gadget; the light from the screen hurt her eyes. It was three o'clock in the morning and Sherlock had just texted her. She considered ignoring it and going back to sleep but she couldn't ignore the little spark of excitement that kindled when she saw his name. Upon reading the text her confusion returned.

: Skull is sticky. Help. Now.

: SH

"What the…" she whispered out loud. "Is that slang?" she wondered. She realized she had better go up and see; even if she had a conversation to try to figure out what he meant he wouldn't let her sleep until she had gone up anyways. Already missing her warm blankets she rolled out of bed. She threw her housecoat on over her pajamas, a camisole and matching shorts. She stepped into her slippers; Mrs. Hudson had given them to her for her birthday two years ago and even though they were ridiculous they were some of her most prized possessions. They were huge and brown and furry; they looked like bear paws and had little stuffed claws coming out of each 'toe'. She quietly left the apartment taking pains to not wake up her Aunt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the entryway and ran her fingers through her long hair as she climbed the stairs. The door was ajar, light from the flat spilled out into the hallway. Cecilia pushed the door open.

Sherlock was sitting splay legged on the floor. His head was laid back on the seat of his chair and the skull was right beside it. It was as though Sherlock had two heads, one boney and terrifying…and the other was a skull. When she arrived Sherlock was rambling about jellyfish.

"It was a _Lion's mane_ jellyfish, you see?" He then giggled.

She assumed he was talking about some case. He lifted his head to look at her but he seemed to be having trouble focusing.

"Sherlock?" she asked. There were many questions that were fighting amongst each other to be asked next. She settled on "Are you drunk?"

"Very likely, given the amount of alcohol I've consumed."

"Why?"

"It seemed like a good way to deal with something that's bothering you." He motioned to her.

She recalled her experience with the severed head and her red-wine bandage. She wanted to ask what was bothering him but she wasn't sure she actually wanted to hear the answer. " Why did you text me?"

"John's at work." He was regretting his decision to text her. He _had_ wanted her to come upstairs. But now that she was actually in front of him…dressed like that… Self destructive habits tend to follow one another, especially when he was bored.

"Okay. What do you mean by _'skull is sticky'_?"

Sherlock turned his head to the skull in his chair. He reached up and stuck his fingers into the eye sockets and lifted it down. He rolled it along the floor to Cecilia's feet. "It'll never be the same."

Cecilia picked up the skull. It was far heavier than one would expect and, indeed, it was sticky. She sniffed it and it reeked of stale beer. "I'll see what I can do, but I don't think anyone knows how to get beer out of bone." She couldn't believe what she was saying. She walked over to the kitchen and put the skull down on the island. She noticed that the cling film over the cookies had been pulled up and a few cookies missing. _"The way to a man's heart is to feed him cookies when he's drunk"_ she joked to herself, then shook her head. The only reason she was here right now was because John was busy. She filled a glass of water and grabbed some aspirin from the medicine cupboard. She walked back into the living room, her footsteps nearly silent due to her slippers. Sherlock was still leaning his head back on the seat of his chair. His eyes were closed. Cecilia knelt down beside him.

"Sherlock?" she called softly.

He opened his eyes and stared at her in mild surprise. "I didn't hear you."

"That's because I'm in bear-feet." She said offhandedly, trying not to laugh.

He stared at her for a long time, and then cracked the glimmer of a smile. "That was horrible."

"Take some." She pushed two pills into his hand.

"Will they make you funnier?"

"No, but you'll thank me tomorrow." He put them in his mouth and she handed him the glass. He drained it as she stood up. His hand shot out and caught hers. She stopped breathing and they locked eyes. Even with the cloudiness of alcohol his eyes were alive with wit and intellect. She was about to speak but before she could he put the empty glass in her hand.

"Oh" she thought to herself on her way back to the darkened kitchen. She needed to leave. She was just embarrassing herself. She put the glass in the sink and stood staring at it for a few moments, lost in thought. She sighed, rubbing her eyes as she turned around. She opened her eyes and Sherlock was standing directly in front of her, looking intently upon her face. Suddenly he was against her, kissing her, his body pressed hers into the counter.

Disinhibited by the alcohol Sherlock was able to act. He expected, and even enjoyed, the soaring lurch that was now deeply associated with Cecilia's lips. He caressed her face; her skin was so soft. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled in at the small of her back. Cecilia was shocked that Sherlock could be so bold, but she didn't let the opportunity pass. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed back, funneling all her pent up desire into it. Sherlock briefly laced his fingers through her hair, but he kept moving his hands. He needed to experience all of her. He placed his fingers tips on her leg and slid them slowly up to her hip. Before he reached it, though, they both heard the front door open.

"Someone still awake?" John called quietly from the front door.

They flew apart like guilty teenagers. Cecilia straightened her pajamas. Sherlock quickly sat down at the table, slumping down in his chair and resting his forehead on his hand. This was only partly an act. Truth be told the combination of alcohol and the high of such visceral excitement had made him quite dizzy. John turned the corner into the kitchen.

" What are you doing up?" He eyed Cecilia. She looked flushed.

"Sherlock texted me." She forced herself to keep herself from smiling. "He's drunk." She whispered to John, nearly silently.

"Oh, you shouldn't have let him get you out of bed." Said John as he patted the skull in front of him. "Why is this sticky?"

"I gave him some aspirin and I was going to put him to bed." She shrugged. "You better let me do that. The last time Sherlock got drunk he got very 'handsy'…and that was with me." John smiled. "I couldn't imagine what trouble he could get into with someone so… uh….never mind." He trailed off. He didn't make eye contact for a few moments. "It's a good thing Sarah's not here."

"Don't worry John, thank-you for the compliment." She brushed off the awkwardness that this moment could have held.

John looked down at the plate of cookies and the note. "Did you bake me cookies?"

"Yes. Sorry. You got the brunt of my stress-baking; Auntie is moving out to the country for a while with some friends. Her doctor says she needs to get away for her condition to improve." Cecilia couldn't hide how upset she was about this.

"I didn't know it was that bad, I'm sorry."

She shook her head; she didn't trust herself to speak immediately. "I'm going to go back to bed." She left the apartment full of mixed feelings. Her aunt leaving was still too close to the surface. As she climbed back into her bed though she let her mind traipse back to those few stolen moments when Sherlock had kissed her. He had kissed her! She closed her eyes and slowly drifted back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: _Ferreting _Out Information

"Cecilia, this is the best lasagna that I've had in years." Praised Sarah. They were sitting around the kitchen table eating the meal that Cecilia had prepared for them. The flat was now clean enough that John could invite Sarah over, without fear. Cecilia had convinced him to make an event of it, a nice home-cooked meal with friends.

"Thank-you so much, Sarah, I can give you the recipe if you like."

"Don't bother. The only thing I can do is tea." She laughed. She and Cecilia had made fast friends. Cecilia liked having a female friend that was closer to her age than Mrs. Hudson. She loved her aunt, but there were just some things that you couldn't talk about with someone who's older than your parents. Sherlock hadn't made any acknowledgement of their clandestine evening in the past few days. It was still too fragile to speak of, even in private. This didn't bother Cecilia as she didn't know what she would say even if they did discuss it. Sitting at the table with him was the closest they had been since that night. Every now and then she just caught Sherlock's eye and a few times their knees brushed under the table.

"So John said that you wanted to be set up with someone?" Asked Sarah pointedly.

Cecilia shot daggers at John. "I can't believe you told her that. I told you no. Absolutely not, if I recall correctly."

"Oh, come-on now. What have you got to loose?" Sarah asked.

"Just my dignity…my time…all respect for men…" Cecilia mumbled playing with the food on her plate.

"Don't be silly. I've been really good at this before."

"You should let her. It'll be good to get out of the house a bit." Added John. "So you can see that all English men aren't," he glanced at Sherlock " insane."

" What's your type?" Sarah persisted.

"I really don't want to be set up on a blind date."

"We won't take no for an answer." Said John as he put his arm around Sarah. Cecilia sighed. They weren't going to stop. "Smart, Dark hair…" she let her eyes flick up to Sherlock and then away. He was leaning back in his chair, at ease, staring out the window. The corner of his mouth was curled ever so slightly. "…um…you know, scratch that. Blonde, buff, someone who's a good time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Must we have this conversation; I just ate."

"Oh, just because you hate everyone doesn't mean she can't be happy." Sarah shot back. "Cecilia, don't worry, I'll talk you up to a few guys I know, we'll sort something out."

"Great." Cecilia said sarcastically. She noticed that everyone was done eating. She made a move to gather all the plates, but John stopped her.

"Let us clear them. You cooked."

"Thanks" she sat back in her chair as John cleared the dishes from the table. Sarah ran the water in the sink. They began doing the dishes together and whispering sweet nothings to each other as one washed and the other dried.

"While you two lovebirds are doing the dishes, why don't I go out and grab something for dessert?" Cecilia offered. "How about ice cream?"

"That sounds nice." Sarah answered. She was looking into John's eyes though, so perhaps she was referring to something else. Cecilia got up and was grabbing her purse when Sherlock spoke up.

"I'm going too." He looked meaningfully at Cecilia as he passed her. "You're not leaving me alone with _them_." He whispered as he walked out the door and started down the stairs.

"Bye. Be back soon." She called over her shoulder.

"Not too soon." She thought she heard John say as she shut the door to the apartment. She quickened her pace to catch up. Sherlock was already out the front door and was striding away from the building.

"Where are we going?" she asked when she reached him.

"You said you wanted ice-cream." He was walking so quickly. He always looked like he was running late for something urgent.

"Will you slow down?"

" Fine." He clipped his pace so she could walk beside him. They walked in silence for a while. Though nothing was said there seemed to be an electric crackle between them. The air was alive with a hunger that had little to do with sweet desserts.

They reached the door of a cute little ice cream parlour a few blocks from the apartment. The bell above the door jingled merrily as they walked into the bright white space.

"What flavours should we get for them?" Cecilia asked, her tone suggested this could be a game.

" Chocolate for John."

"Obviously." Cecilia knew chocolate was John's first preference when it came to sweets; always requesting chocolate biscuits with his tea.

Sherlock appraised her. " What would you choose for Sarah?"

She stared at the buckets of bright colours under the counter for a time. She really didn't know Sarah that well. "Strawberry?"

"A safe choice." Mild derision filtered into his voice.

" Well, what would you choose for her?"

"Frozen yogurt. Peach."

"And how do you know that? The particular whorl of her thumb print denotes someone who likes peachy frozen desserts?"

"No. She and John stopped for dessert on their first date. It's what she ordered."

" How do you know what she ordered on their first date?"

"I was following them. I needed to observe some acrobats at the circus and they were excellent cover.

"I'm sure John was _very_ happy to have you along on a date."

"Well, I suppose it could have gone better." He nodded, remembering the terrifying events of that night.

"What flavour would you get for me?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. She let a knowing smile curl the corners of her lips.

It was catching; Sherlock mirrored her smile. He scanned the selection of ice creams. " This one" he pointed to a bucket filled with light green ice cream.

"What kind is that?"

"Pistachio."

"But I've never had pistachio ice cream before."

"The question wasn't what is your favorite, the question was what would I choose for you."

"Okay. I'll try it. What are you getting?

"Nothing for me." He walked out into the street.

Cecilia rolled her eyes and went to order. She got John and Sarah's to go, but she got hers in a cone. She tasted the ice cream before walking out. It was excellent. Sherlock was right; it was exactly what she wanted. She stepped back into the street. Sherlock had wandered quite a ways down looking at posters. She sauntered towards him.

"Find anything interesting?" She asked as she licked her ice cream.

" Nothing in the slightest, unless I'd like to learn how to play the guitar." He sighed.

"We should get back, before their ice cream melts."

"Right." They turned to go back.

"You were right, the pistachio is delicious." Said Cecilia. "How did you know?"  
>Sherlock didn't answer immediately "It's my favorite." He looked away.<p>

"Ice cream isn't too mundane?"

"Most is. But pistachio… that's_ really_ intriguing."

" Would you like some?" She held her cone out to him.

He placed his hand around hers and brought the cone to his mouth. Cecilia felt a flutter in her stomach.

"Good?" she asked.

"Very." He did not release her hand straight away. He tasted her ice cream again and then released her hand.

Cecilia had to turn her face away, she was quite sure she was blushing. "Tell me something else about yourself. All I know about you is that you're the worlds only consulting detective, you get bored if you don't have a case to work on, and your favorite ice cream is pistachio."

"What else is there to know?"

" Well for starters; who is Mycroft?"

" Mhm." He groaned. He didn't want to discuss him. "He' my brother."

"Your brother?" She stared at Sherlock, narrowing her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just can't picture it. Sherlock Holmes with a brother, as a kid? With a family?"

He looked at her, confused, "Well, I wasn't hatched."

" No, I realize that," she began to laugh "it's just hard to imagine. Why would you be so scared about your brother talking to me?"

"It's something like sibling rivalry. He continually tries to spy on me. If he approaches you he'll offer you money to give him information about me."

"So that's why you were so upset."

"I wasn't upset."

" A man runs up to you and grabs you asking if you're alright? He's not upset?"

" No. He just knows what resources his brother has and was…concerned about an innocent person."

"Right." she answered suspiciously.

" Though he _will_ try to approach you eventually. He has with everyone I'm close to. He basically abducted John right off the street. Just remember that he won't actually hurt you, he just wants to scare you."

"You make him sound like some sort of wild animal."

"Like a weasel?"

" I'll make sure I pass that along when I meet him."

Sherlock winked at her. They had reached the front entrance of 221 Baker when Sherlock's phone rang. He quickly reached into his jacket and pulled it out.

"Sherlock Holmes….Finally!.. No, didn't mean it that way…I'll be right there." Sherlock's face was alight in a way Cecilia had never seen it. "A case!" He ran into the building and up to his flat yelling for John the entire way. Cecilia ran behind him.

"Sherlock? What's going on?" But she went unanswered.

He had reached the apartment before her. When she managed to get in the door John and Sarah looked just a dumbfounded as she.

"Lestrade just called. We need to go."

"What? A case? Now?" John and Sarah were quite cozy on the couch.

"Yes John. Come on!" Sherlock turned on his heel and walked back though the door. As he passed he locked eyes with Cecilia. She could see the excitement in them, it was the same look he'd had that night a few days ago.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and the Sherlock universe belong to Moffat, Gatiss, and Doyle.

A/N: This was my first time writing any sort of crime/forensics/"Sherlockian" case. My apologies if it doesn't hang together very well or it seems a bit clunky. This was a very hard chapter to write and I've been over it so many times (rewritten it too many times), it's hard to see where the holes are. Like all the other cases that I've referenced in this story this too is based on a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle work (The Adventure of the Devil's Foot if you're interested). I've done my best at 'updating' it and making it fit into the Sherlock BBC universe so some changes obviously have to be made; some are small, some are large. Please read and review- any feedback is appreciated!

Chapter 9: Sympathy for the Devil

Sherlock and John got out of the cab in front of a little pub in the East end of the city. It was raining again and Sherlock pulled up the collar of his coat. John trundled along behind after paying the cabbie.

"The Cornwall Club?" said John as he caught up with Sherlock and an officer lifted the crime scene tape for them to duck underneath.

"It's a poker club." answered Sherlock.

" I've always been rubbish at cards."

" I've never seen the point of it."

"You can tell what everyone has, can't you?"

"Yes. Can't you?"

"No, Sherlock." John replied with a sigh. Sherlock would never fully understand how normal people operated.

They approached Detective Inspector Lestrade and a few other crime scene analysts. They were clustered around a table in the back of the pub in front of a fireplace. As they got closer Lestrade turned.

"Holmes and Watson. Thank-you for coming."

"It's been too long." Said Sherlock ruefully.

" Thought you would start knocking people off a while ago," Sally Donovan interrupted as she walked up to them. "Just so you would have something to do."

"Donovan. Always a pleasure." Sherlock shot back, sarcasm dripping of every word. "Still scrubbing floors, I see."

She glared at him icily and stalked away to oversee the rest of the analysts.

" It _has_ been some time since we've needed to call you in, Holmes. What have been doing to keep the boredom away? Going over more old cases with that pretty young thing?"

"What does he mean Sherlock?" pestered John.

Sherlock exhaled, irritated. He turned to John, explaining in hushed tones. "Cecilia just helped me understand an old case I was musing on a few weeks ago. She came along when I met with Lestrade to get him to reopen the files." He rolled his eyes.

John forced himself not to grin. "She's our housekeeper." He said to Lestrade.

"Getting domestic, are you? That's new."

John laughed. He hadn't seen anything developing between Sherlock and Cecilia since those first few days when he caught Sherlock staring at her, but it tickled him to know that others saw the same thing he had.

" Can we please focus on the case, Lestrade, and bypass all this inane small talk." Said Sherlock sharply.

Lestrade gave John a knowing look and nodded. "The bodies have already been taken to the morgue, but there were three deceased," he motioned to the table. "All siblings; Bernard, Harold and Avis Tregennis. They were here playing their weekly poker game. The fourth of the game was their other brother Mortimer Tregennis. The waitress discovered them when the pub was closing; when she went to tell them to leave."

"When did this happen? It's rather early in the evening for a pub to be closing."

"This happened last night…or rather," Lestrade held up his watch, "earlier today. She found them at about 4:00 AM but the medical inspector places the time of death at about midnight."

" Why wait so long to call us?" Asked John.

" We've been having such a streak lately that we didn't want to call you in unnecessarily. Anderson begged me not to call you but the particulars of this case have us stumped."

Sherlock moved past Lestrade and began observing the scene. He knelt down by the table, and looked beneath it. "And they are?"

" It's the way they were killed; we can't discern any reason as to why they are dead." There is no trauma, no wounds, no poison in their drinks, no drug use…nothing. They were found at closing time still sitting in their chairs, still holding their cards… just not breathing." He let Sherlock have a few moments to look over the scene. Sherlock seemed to attack it like a starving animal. He was everywhere at once.

"Where's the other brother?" John asked.

"We've got him in custody, but we won't have him for much longer."

"Why's that? It's highly suspicious that all three of his siblings wound up dead."

"We've got nothing to hold him on. He says he was the first out of the game; he finished his drink by the fireplace and then left, waitress says she saw them deal another hand after he walked out. Witnesses and the waitress corroborate his story. There was even a waitress outside on a cigarette break who saw him drive away. She also mentioned that they had all been arguing earlier in the night; she didn't hear much as she was giving them a pretty wide berth; Harold and the sister Avis apparently were extremely touchy about the waitresses walking by them when they were playing. They always accused Bernard of bribing the waitresses to cheat for him. Anyway, she said it sounded like Mortimer asked his siblings for money but none of them wanted to give him any."

"He _must_ be involved somehow."

" Can't say for sure. He's pretty broken up about them, and he's got a fair alibi."

"John?" Sherlock called as he was crouched down in front of the fireplace.

" Have you found something Sherlock?" He came over to where Sherlock was kneeling.

"Nothing… Isn't it fantastic? A real case!"

" I think we need to go look at the bodies."

" Quite right, John." He grinned and stood up. "Lestrade, send copies of all financial records and any information you have thus far on all the Tregennises to the flat."

Lestrade nodded. He could not help but to admit some sort of defeat in having to call Sherlock in, but he kept reminding himself that it was for the greater good.

Sherlock and John left the bar and John hailed a taxi. Sherlock was busy with his phone. They got into the cab that pulled up a few moments later.

"Where to boys?" the cabbie grunted at them.

"The morgue?" John asked Sherlock.

" Yes. Molly is working tonight."

John told the cabbie the address and they drove off into the rain. Sherlock was quiet in the cab. John didn't want to disrupt his thoughts in case he was putting something together. John sat back and listened to the sloshing of the puddles as the car tires rolled through them. His thoughts turned to Sarah. He did love investigating cases with Sherlock. It brought back the excitement he had been missing since he came back from the war. However, there was a comfort when he was with Sarah, she was exciting in a completely unexciting way and he had a few misgivings being away from her. He glanced at Sherlock, still researching something or other on his phone. He knew Sherlock would never have misgivings like this. Sherlock would never miss someone the way he missed Sarah. But then Cecilia came unbidden to his mind. She and Sherlock had gotten along rather well. Apparently he wasn't the only one who saw something between them as well. John shook his head; he was just being foolish.

They pulled up at the hospital. Sherlock got out of the cab and headed straight for the entrance. John sighed and paid the driver. He jogged to catch up.

"Just once it would be nice if you could pay for the cab."

"I'm sure it would be." He put his phone away and passed through the doors.

Molly was just finishing some paperwork in the morgue when her phone rang, or rather vibrated in her pocket. She flailed a bit to get it out. Her lab coat making the process of extricating it from her slacks a difficult one. She put the file she was holding on the Tregennis siblings down on the counter and finally got the phone out.

: Long time, no see.

: SH

She was surprised. It had been more than a month since Sherlock had last contacted her. There was a tapping on the safety window and she looked up. Sherlock and John were there. _How does he always manage to look so dashing?_ She thought to herself. She waved them in.

"Sherlock! So nice of you to come visit!" She couldn't help letting a little flirt come into her voice.

Sherlock responded in kind. "Molly. You've cut your hair again." He allowed his eyes to obviously flicker up and down her body.

She fought a nervous giggle. "I did. Just a trim, though. You always notice, Sherlock."

Sherlock moved closer to her and looked into her eyes." Molly, we need to see the bodies of the Tregennis family." He saw the hurt look on Molly's face that was quickly brought back to smiling, though it no longer reached her eyes. Sherlock knew exactly how to get what he wanted from Molly; she was as easy to play as his violin.

"Oh, okay." she was crestfallen. "I actually finished with them a few hours ago." She walked to the back of the large room, her low sensible heels clicked on the hard tile floor. She opened a small door a chest height open and rolled the drawer out. A black body bag lay on top. She did this twice more. Soon all three deceased Tregennis siblings were presented for Sherlock and John.

"You're a doll." He winked at her. He and John followed her to the first body.

"This is Bernard Tregennis." She announced as she unzipped the black bag and pulled the sides down around the body. There was a flush in her cheeks. "To be honest, there's not much to see. I've finished the autopsy and the only thing I can find is that there is some damage to the lungs."

"What kind of damage?" asked John. He and Molly stood back as Sherlock looked the body over, sniffing here and there. He looked into the mouth and the nose. He checked the fingernails. Bernard Tregennis's eyes had been closed at some point on the journey to the morgue, Sherlock opened them.

"There was some very slight tissue damage; it looked like a bruise on the inside."

" This was present in all three?"

"Yes."

"Open the other two." Sherlock directed Molly. He let the flirtatious façade fall. He needed to see something. Molly complied and unzipped the other two bags. There was a strong family resemblance between them. They were all quite pale with mousey hair, all a little heavy. Sherlock lifted the eyelids of the other two Tregennis siblings in turn.

"Did you check their eyes?"

Molly was surprised, she had checked the eyes as part of her preliminary observations, but at that time there had been nothing amiss. "Yes. There was nothing out of the ordinary."

"When did you check them?"

"When they arrived…"

"When was that?" Sherlock shouted.

" About 12 hours ago now," Molly glanced at the clock above the door, "Give or take a few minutes."

"Well, all three have conjunctive petechiae now."

John rushed over to check the bodies. "You're right, Sherlock. All three have pinpoint red dots in their eyes. It's when the tiny blood vessels rupture and it's usually a pretty good sign of asphyxiation, though it's unusual that it would take this long to present. Sherlock, do you think they died of asphyxiation?"

"There are no other signs of it. There's no bruising around the necks. There were no fibers anywhere…if they were asphyxiated it would have been done by cutting all the air off in the room, and that would have been impossible."

"What about a carbon monoxide leak or something at the bar?" John asked.

"I've tested their blood for all the normal toxins. The levels were normal for everything. Carbon Monoxide poisoning would have shown up."

"No toxins or poisons present in their blood at all?" Sherlock asked.

"Just some alcohol."

"Keep an eye on any other developments with these bodies, particularly any bruising. Text me if anything changes." Sherlock stalked out of the room, as he left he picked up the file labeled Tregennis that lay on the counter and smoothly slipped it into his coat.

"Thanks Molly!" John followed Sherlock out of the room.

Sherlock and John were on their way back to 221b Baker when Sherlock's phone rang again. He put the file down on his lap and got it out of his pocket. It was Lestrade. Sherlock stared at it for a few moments, letting it ring.

"Are you going to answer that?"

" Lestrade knows I prefer to text." He handed the phone to John and went back to looking at the file he had taken from Molly. It had all the basic information for the Tregennises; heights, weights, ages, addresses.

John answered. "Sherlock's phone…yes this is John…well text him next time." He playfully punched Sherlock in the shoulder. "…what?" John listened and nodded for a minute "...okay, I'll let him know."

Sherlock looked at John quizzically as he took his phone back.

"Lestrade says that Morty Tregennis has confessed."

Sherlock looked shocked and confused.

"He's confessed to knowing who killed his siblings. He says he was in debt to some serious bookie called 'Big Eddy Roundhay. He couldn't pay up so Big Eddy sent his thugs in to send a warning to Morty."

" No. Thugs weren't responsible for that."

"They've released Morty into protective custody while they investigate further, but Lestrade says they've been looking for something to take Big Eddy down with for a while…it might be case closed."

"Cab driver," Sherlock leaned forward and tapped on the Plexiglas divider, "Change of plans. We need to go to 431 Tredannick Road." He read the address form the file.

"What are we going to do, Sherlock?"

" I need to speak with this 'Morty'" Sherlock put extra emphasis onto the name. He did not think much of it, nor of its owner. He knew gangsters were not responsible for this type of elegant death. They always wanted to send a message; one punctuated with blood and underlined with violence. These deaths were far too ambiguous and subtle. Something was amiss.

"Cab driver, pull over!" Sherlock yelled. The cab quickly swerved over to the curb. Sherlock opened the door. "John, carry on to Tregennis's flat. Wait outside the building, I'll be along shortly."

"What are you doing?"

" I need some information, something isn't sitting well." He closed the cab's door and watched it drive off into the rain.

Sherlock scanned the nearly deserted city street. Most people were tucked safely into their homes, warm, dry, and completely useless. Sherlock walked down the street looking for one of his network of homeless informants. He paid them well for their help and in return he could be informed on almost any dealing in London's criminal underworld. Finally he found a face he recognized peering out at him from beneath a set of stairs. Sherlock ducked beneath them. The girl was sitting on a crate and holding a garbage bag over her head. She was very skinny; even many layers of clothes couldn't hide that, and her blonde hair was greasy and knotted.

"Mr. Holmes. What'chu after tonight?" She extended her hand to him.

Sherlock grasped her hand and pressed a few bills into it. " I need to know what Eddie Roundhay is up to."

The homeless girl snorted. "Easiest money I ever made. Big Eddy is dead. He was taken out three weeks ago by some Irish gang."

"You're sure?"

" Positive, Donny saw them put the body in their trunk."

Sherlock turned and stood up. "Thanks." His mind was swirling, he needed to get back to John.

John saw a cab pull up only a few minutes after he had been waiting. Sherlock got out, paid the driver, and ran over to John.

"Eddie Roundhay had been dead for three weeks. He can't be threatening Tregennis."

"So it _was_ Morty that killed his siblings?"

"Obviously."

"So were just going to go up and talk to a murderer?"

" How else can we prove what he did?"

Sherlock paused around the corner from Morty's flat. He pulled out one of Lestrade's badges that he had pick-pocketed from the inside pocket of his overcoat. He strode towards the apathetic officer guarding the door of Morty's apartment.

"I need to speak with Mr. Tregennis." He flashed the badge at the officer, too quickly for him to see the name on the badge, but with enough confidence to allay any doubts. He knocked on Morty's door.

"Who's there?" a small and greasy voice answered from behind the door.

Sherlock held the badge up to the peephole. "I'm a Detective sent by Lestrade. Open the door. We have a few more questions for you."

"I thought you were done with the questions." Morty said as he opened the door.

Sherlock and John stepped through the door and Morty slammed the door behind them. "Who did you say you were again?"

"I'm Detective Inspector Hudson, and this is Anderson." Sherlock motioned to John. John made a face at Sherlock.

"What'chu want then?"

"Just a few follow up questions." John jumped in; he was getting the hang of keeping up with Sherlock when they did this sort of subterfuge.

Sherlock quickly took in Morty's flat. It was a small one-bedroom affair with dingy walls. There was a small fireplace in his combination dining and sitting room, but it looked like it had never been used. It was cold; the small window above Morty's table was open and letting in the cool air from the rain soaked city. Covering Morty's table were several weeks worth of horse racing papers, all with several names circled.

"Mr. Tregennis, what was the argument you had with your siblings prior to their deaths about?"

At the mention of his siblings Morty's face contorted into something between grief and anger. "''Arry, Bern an Avis didn't want to lend me any money. I'm in deep, I told this to Lestrade, to Roundhay. I thought if they would each lend me a little I could put it all on this real hot tip I got and pay off all my debts. They didn't have nothin' else to do with their money; no kids or wives or husband."

" The Tregennises aren't the marrying type?" John asked.

"No." Morty snorted. "Well, I was. I was always the black sheep of the family. They always left me out, especially after mum and dad died. They also hated my wife." He pointed to an old picture hanging on the wall. It was the only picture in the room. It was of a smiling woman in her wedding gown.

"That's your wife?" Asked John.

Sherlock was busy on his phone as John questioned Morty. He was looking up winners of horse races for the past few weeks. Morty had indeed lost quite a few races.

" Ex-wife."

" That would be Leona Tregennis?" Sherlock chimed in, remembering the name from the file.

"She goes by Leona Sterndale now." Morty answered. "We split up a long time ago. After she became a _doctor_ she thought she was too good for me."

"She's a doctor, where does she practice?" John thought he might have insight on how to find her.

"Not that kind of doctor. She's a botanist, always going on and on about her plants and her research in the Congo. Waste of time if you ask me.

"Do you have any contact with her anymore?"

"Not for about ten years."

Sherlock turned his attention to Morty himself. He looked like his brothers. He was pale and had mousey brown hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a sweater and a jacket so he looked bulkier than he was. In actuality he was quite slight. "Where did you go after you left the pub last night?"

"Here. I was getting awful hands all night. Finally I went all in on a flush hand and damnit if Avis didn't have a full house. I finished my drink and came home. Cops rang my doorbell at about 5 am this morning and told me what happened."

Sherlock heard the ding of his phone. He looked down at it. It was a text form Molly.

: closer inspection found soot like substance inside noses.

: was there incense at the pub?

Sherlock knew there was no incense at the pub, but what could the Tregennises have inhaled that made it look like that?

"It's a bit chilly in here." John interrupted. He zipped up his own jacket.

Morty eyed him warily. " I like it cold." He fussed with the lapel of his jacket.

Sherlock noticed that when Morty raised his right arm the underside of his cuff was singed. The cheap jacket was made out of a polyester blend and he could see where it had melted and blackened. There was also soot on Morty's wrist. Morty had singed his cuff recently.

"I think we have everything we need." Sherlock said; his eyes were focused on Morty's wrist. He turned on his heel and made for the door. John followed him out into the hallway.

"Do you know something?" John whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, waiting until they were out of earshot of the officer. "The cuff of his coat was recently singed, within the last day. He hasn't had a fire in his flat and the only other place he's been is the pub. But he said himself that he likes the cold. The waitress said that he finished his drink standing by the fire; why would a man, who likes the cold, stand so close to a fire that it singed his cuff?"

"I don't know."

"We need to get the contents of the fireplace of the Cornwall Club. Morty is unaccustomed to having a fire; I would wager he's never lit one in his apartment fireplace. Someone who doesn't know what they're doing might accidentally singe their sleeve if.."

"..If they were throwing something into the fire!" finished John.

"Glad to see you're following along, John." Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text to Lestrade.

: get samples of contents of Cornwall Club fireplace analyzed.

: send the rest to 221b

:SH

Sherlock and John arrived at the flat just before the officer rang the bell at the front entrance of 221 Baker St. They went down and helped him carry in two large bins of ash, charcoal, and various detritus from the fireplace of the Cornwall Club as well as a few boxes of photocopied pages of personal information belonging to the Tregennis siblings.

"They said the fireplace hadn't been cleaned in over a year," the officer said as he panted up the stairs with the heavy plastic bin.

"Of course not." John carried the other one up the stairs. They dropped them inside the door of the flat. John shook the officers' hand and said goodbye.

"What exactly do you plan to do with all this, Sherlock?" John asked after the officer had left.

" I'm going to see if my theory is correct."

" Are you going to sift through all of this ash and soot until you find something?"

" Something like that." Sherlock was already pulling a bin over to the small fireplace.

" Looks like it's going to be a long night. I'm going to go get some coffee, you want some?" John paused at the door.

"Why don't you just make some?"

"Because I need some fresh air…and speaking of fresh air; if you're going to do what I think you're about to do, make sure you open a window." John started down the stairs. The real reason he was volunteering to go get some coffee was that he wanted a few minutes to himself so that he could call Sarah. He wanted to apologize for how the evening had ended and to let her know that everything was going to be fine.

Sherlock went to work. He built a fire in the fireplace and when it was burning steadily he took a scoop from the bin and placed it in the flames taking care not to smother the fire. After fifteen minutes nothing had happened and Sherlock added another scoop. He was sitting on the floor watching the flames when John returned with two styrofoam cups. He handed one to Sherlock who took it wordlessly, never taking his eyes off the fire.

"I thought I told you to keep the window open." John crossed the living room and opened the window a crack, letting the cool night air ease into the room. John breathed deeply. "What if you were right, Sherlock? You could have killed yourself just like the Tregennises."

"Experimenting on oneself is part of the grand scientific tradition."

" And so is killing yourself accidentally?"

Sherlock didn't respond, he just continued to stare into the flames.

"Any word from Lestrade?" John asked after a time.

"Nothing yet." Sherlock sprinkled another scoop onto the fire and sipped his coffee. "Why don't you make yourself useful and start going through the personal information?" Sherlock pointed behind him at the boxes still sitting by the door.

John walked over to the boxes and pulled them around to the couch. He settled himself and began reading. He didn't glean much new information from the first few pages he read. Periodically Sherlock would place another scoop of ash into the fire, or put more wood on it to keep it burning but he would always return to sitting in front of the fire breathing deeply. Hours passed and John slipped quietly into sleep.

Early the next morning John opened his eyes and checked his watch. He had only been asleep for three hours. Sherlock was still sitting in the same spot by the fire.

" I have a shift today, Sherlock." John said as he rubbed his face free of sleep.

"It's fine John, if you're just going to sleep instead of work you might as well do it at the clinic."

" Yeah. How _dare_ I get three hours of sleep when there's so much fire-staring to do!"

"I am very carefully noting any physiological changes to my body in case my theory is correct."

"I'm not so sure all that time off hasn't dulled your talent, Sherlock." John shook his head and tromped off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.

Sherlock placed another scoop in the fire; he was just beginning on the second bin. He tied not to dwell on what John had said but the truth was that similar thoughts had been going through his mind for the past few hours. Several times, after he could hear the soft sounds of John snoring, he had to remind himself to focus on the case. He kept descending into remembrances of warm lips pressed against his, the feel of smooth skin under his fingertips, and what might have happened if John had decided to go to Sarah's that night instead of coming home…

"Right then, I'm off." John announced as he walked towards the door. Sherlock didn't know how long he had been lost in thought; it must have been _quite _some time as the fire had burned down to embers and Sherlock had to quickly add more wood to bank it up. He didn't respond to John, he needed to focus. "Have a good day, John." John said in mock tones filling in for Sherlock's lack of response. "Well, thank-you, Sherlock. I certainly will." He answered himself and closed the door.

Sherlock poured another scoop onto the fire. Nothing. Another scoop. Nothing. He was nearly through the second bin of ash, maybe his theory _was_ wrong. He banked the fire again and gathered another scoop of ash. This scoop had more charcoal and other debris in it. He carefully spread it over the fire. Almost instantly he could feel a stinging in his throat. He coughed. It was getting hard to breath and he was getting dizzy. Sherlock's vision blackened around the edges and he was finding it very difficult to move. He couldn't help but think how easy it would be to just keep sitting right here and fall into oblivion.

The wind picked up outside and a gust of fresh air blew hard through the open window. His senses cleared a little; he had to get out of here! Sherlock stretched along the floor and did his best to crawl towards the door. He was trying not to breath but his throat felt like it was bring crushed and his lungs were demanding air. He pulled himself arm over arm until he had reached the door. He coughed and nearly retched. He reached up and grasped the door handle. He was so weak he could barely turn it. With all his might he grasped the handle and turned finally hearing the click of the mechanism. He could only open the door a crack as he was still lying in front of it but he pushed his nose and mouth as close to the crack as possible and breathed as deeply as he could. The clean air loosened the clenching pain in his throat and chest; the black at the edges of his vision receded a little. He wedged his fingers in the crack and pulled the door open while rolling his body out of the way. He lay in front of the open door for a few more breaths; allowing his head to clear. His chest still ached and his throat was on fire but he was still alive. He crawled out onto the landing and closed the door to 221b behind him. He lay prone on the landing for a few minutes just enjoying the sensation of breathing.

Sherlock heard the main entrance of 221 Baker St. open and the sound of women's laughter filled the space. It was Cecilia and Sarah. Sherlock rolled towards the dark corner of the landing that was not visible from the entranceway. He didn't exactly know why he hid from her, he only know that he did not want her to see him this way.

"Thanks for taking me out to breakfast, Sarah."

" It was good to finally have some one on one time. Are you sure you won't reconsider? It's not like you're seeing anyone."

Sherlock couldn't hear Cecilia respond.

"Are you?" Sarah's voice quavered with amazement.

Sherlock felt his stomach sink and his chest tighten.

"No." Cecilia said quietly.

"So… You're going on this date."

Cecilia made a sound of frustration. "Fine."

"Tonight, at seven?"

"If you promise this will be the one and only time you do this."

Sarah's singsong laughter was the last thing he heard before the door to Mrs. Hudson's apartment closed.

Sherlock lay quiet for a moment; his mind was miles away from the case. He had the distinct feeling that something was slipping away from him but he couldn't determine exactly what it was. His train of thought was interrupted when he heard an incoming text from Lestrade.

-ding-

: Mass Spec. found anomalous plant matter. Could be a toxin. Still analyzing.

: next move?

: Lestrade

Sherlock's mind was hauled defiantly back to the task at hand. Plant matter? Mortimer Tregennis killed his siblings with a toxic plant he had thrown into the fire. Where had he gotten such a plant? He replied to Lestrade:

: Take Morty into custody

: he murdered siblings. check his cuff.

: SH

Sherlock rolled over onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself up to standing. His throat and chest still ached but it was passing. He cracked the door of the flat open and peered inside, he held his breath just to be sure. The fire was well on its way to going out; there were only a few embers left. The window was still open as well so eventually the flat would air itself out. He walked into the flat cautiously. He inhaled but remained ready to leave again at the first sign of the searing pain in his throat. Nothing so far. He got closer to the fireplace; nothing. He came within about ten feet of the fireplace and he could just detect the acrid odor that had first assaulted him. He took a step back and opened another window in the living room and moved into the kitchen and opened the small window there as well. Now he knew why Morty had wanted his window open. Maybe he had been testing the on himself? The toxin only affected a localized atmosphere, and it had to be burned to do that. Sherlock grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blew his nose. He looked down at the tissue; sure enough a black soot-like substance was there.

A few minutes later he received a second message:

-ding-

:Morty is dead.

:Come to 431 Tredannick Road

: Lestrade

Things were developing as fast as Sherlock could put them together. His reputation depended on keeping ahead of the case; he needed to focus.

Sherlock was soon back at Morty Tregennises apartment building. He walked down the hall to the small flat through a crowd of officers that were congesting the hallway. He spotted the guard from the previous night coming towards him in conversation with another officer. Sherlock ducked down under the guise of tying his shoe. He didn't want anyone to know he had been here the night before. He arrived at the door to the small dingy flat and could see Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson all in the living room.

The body of Mortimer Tregennis was still where it had been found. Lestrade and a few officers had come at Sherlock's insistence to take him into custody and found him lying on floor. He was face down and one hand was extended in the direction of the door. Sherlock took stock of the room and noticed immediately that the window above the now clutter free table had been closed. There was also ash and charcoal in the fireplace.

"Sherlock, glad you could get here so quickly." Lestrade welcomed him into the room and turned back to the body. "It looks as though the same method was used to kill him as was used to kill the other Tregennises."

Sherlock looked for other things that were amiss in the room. The flat looked as though it had been hastily cleaned up. The clutter from the table had been piled next to the wall. A half empty bottle of wine was sitting on the kitchen counter. There were burned down candles on the mantle. "Was there another body found here?"

"No." replied Lestrade sounding confused. "Why?"

Sherlock looked at the wall behind Lestrade. The picture of the smiling woman in her wedding gown was gone. He could see the outline on the wallpaper where it had faded around the frame.

" We need to find Leona Sterndale."

Sherlock waited hours at Scotland Yard for Lestrade to let him speak with Leona Sterndale. She had been taken into custody at work, the research department of a large multinational pharmaceutical corporation. Sherlock had cornered him in the hallway outside the interrogation room where Leona sat.

"Until you tell me what's going on I won't let you speak to her."

" What do you mean?"

" Why did we arrest this woman?"

Sherlock stared at him in disbelief. "The Tregennises all displayed tell tale signs of asphyxiation and they had black residue in their nostrils; something I can attest is absolutely indicative of the toxin from the fire, a toxin that was found to be anomalous plant matter. Morty burned the cuff of his jacket by placing that on the fire, he's not accustomed to being around fires so he accidentally got to close. He quickly left and the toxic fumes killed his siblings. No one else was harmed as the waitresses gave them a wide berth and the toxin only affects a rather small radius around the fire.

"How did he get his hands on this toxic plant in the first place?"

" That's what I'd like to find out."

Lestrade allowed Sherlock to speak with Leona Sterndale. Sherlock opened the door and sat down across the table from the redheaded scared looking woman.

"It's okay." He began, sympathy flooding his voice. " I don't work for the police."

" Then why are you here?"

" I only come in when the police can't understand what's going on."

" What's all this got to do with me? I haven't had contact with my ex-husband in over ten years."

"That's not true. You saw him last night. After you heard about the mysterious circumstances of the Tregennis sibling's deaths you contacted him. You must have put on quite the act as he thought you were headed to reconciliation; wine, candles, romantic fire. But you took some of the precise plant that he used to kill his brothers and sister and you did the same to him. Why?"

"When I first got back from the Congo, I told him about this plant's properties; I was so excited by what I had found. The name comes from what some of the witch doctors in the jungle call it. In small doses, and treated with specific chemicals, the Devil's Foot plant is a very safe and effective anti-depressant, the witch-doctors used it by heating very small amounts. They would breath in the fumes and it would help them achieve a deeper meditative state. It's fatal though if too much is used, or it's exposed to direct flames. I told him all this even though all my research belonged to my company and I wasn't supposed to share any of my findings, but he was my husband; though, not for long. I didn't know that he had taken some of my samples, or that he held on to them all this time. When I saw on the news about Harold, Bernard and Avis… I knew that he had killed them, and how. I knew if it got out that the Devil's Foot plant was being used to kill people that my entire career, ten years of research, would be gone; not to mention all the people this drug could help. I had to stop him."

" What is right is not always what is legal. I understand that. But it will be up to Detective Lestrade to decide your fate." Sherlock got up and went out to tell Lestrade everything about the case and what evidence he needed to present to prove it.

As Sherlock left Scotland Yard the sun was setting. It was almost 6:30. He hadn't slept in over 48 hours but the fatigue didn't bother him. In fact it felt like he was getting back to normal. His mind felt sharp again.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Okay folks, this is what you're all here for (if you're like me, anyway. Ha ha) This is the chapter that gets the R rating. As always feel free to read and review!

Chapter 10 : Celebration

Cecilia was down trodden as she returned home late. Sarah had set her up with someone she knew from her gym. She had not been able to give a good excuse for declining, she couldn't tell anyone what had been developing between her and Sherlock. And Sarah wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. So she went out to dinner with 'Stewart'. He might have been a lovely man but it was a waste of an evening. She could not help to compare him to Sherlock, and he came up so very short. While on the date she had chided herself for wearing her 'hot-date' clothes; low cut black blouse, dark jeans, black lace underwear…why was she trying to impress this over-muscled imbecile? As soon as was appropriate she cut the date short, declining to get drinks. She even paid half the bill upon leaving so there would be absolutely no obligation owed to 'Stew", as he insisted she call him. At least Sarah had agreed to never set her up again.

She walked through the entranceway of 221 Baker and looked up the stairs to check in anyone was in. There was no light under the door. She sighed; yet another day without seeing either John or Sherlock. "This is their regular schedule" she reminded herself, Sherlock was _usually_ working a case. Cecilia had been living alone in her Aunt's flat for what seemed like to long, and the few days without John and Sherlock showed her just how lonely she was. She was becoming a little homesick. Maybe she should go visit her Aunt soon, get away for a weekend…

Lost in though she walked through the dark apartment. She didn't bother turning on the main lights; she was just going to go straight to bed. She opened the door to her room and crossed to her bedside lamp and switched it on. Startled, she let out a yelp as she saw that there was a man reclining on her bed.

"Sherlock! Why do you always try to scare me? What are you doing here?" She yelled.

"I solved it!" he had his hands behind his head a look of satisfaction on his face. He was wearing a white shirt, mostly unbuttoned and uncharacteristically un-tucked form his black trousers.

"Oh!" She responded with an irrepressible smile. She smiled more for knowing that she would be seeing him more often for a little while than for his accomplishment. "That's wonderful Sherlock…but what are you doing _here_." She indicated her bed.

He sat up, there was a moment of silence while they locked eyes. He took her hand and pulled her down on the bed. He was on such a high from solving the mystery that he felt like he could do anything in the world. Sherlock kissed Cecilia deeply, his tongue finding admittance. She exhaled sensually. There had been so much tension building between the two of them that this triggered a torrent of animalistic passion.

They were immediately writhing against each other; they struggled with each other's clothing. Cecilia undid her jeans and slipped out of them; she was thankful that she had dressed for a date after-all. Sherlock pulled her blouse up over her head. His hands ached to caress her curves. This had been put off far too long, interrupted too often. Unencumbered by her clothes Cecilia began kissing his neck. She could smell his masculine scent and it was something she hungered for. She pushed back his unbuttoned shirt and the black lace of her bra grazed his chest. He moaned, his voice husky with desire. He pulled away and stood up by the bed. His light eyes were filled with lust and he moved as though he were a prowling jungle cat. A smile spread across Cecilia's face, she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted a man so badly. She slid her bra off and got up onto her knees grabbing Sherlock's belt and pulling him towards her. She began kissing his abdomen, feeling his heat through the fabric of his pants. Sherlock's eyes locked onto hers and if felt like they bored into her soul. He smiled, perhaps seeing that she truly wanted this, or perhaps anticipating the satisfaction he would take. He pushed her back onto the bed, roughly, as he shed the rest of his clothing. They were one again, kissing each other wildly, grinding their bodies against one another.

Sherlock could not wait any longer, thoughts of this had clouded his mind so often in the past days that he had struggled more than he should have on the case. He took that which he hungered for and groaned with desire and relief. Cecilia gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck. They were grappling for control over their bodies, both wanting to make it last longer, but yearning for climax. Sherlock had never experienced such visceral pleasure. For the first time in so many years he was not in his head, he was in the moment. For once he was not analyzing and observing he was just experiencing. He was indebted to Cecilia; thus far she had been the only woman to arouse this type of passion in him. Again and again her embrace sent waves of pleasure crashing over him.

Cecilia clawed at his chest, his back, she entwined her fingers in his wavy hair. He delighted in her fervor. Sherlock could see her racing pulse in the hollow of her throat. He could see, hear, and feel her enjoyment and he lost control. He threw back his head and released, grunting and sighing her name. He shuddered as the ripples of pleasure slowly faded.

He collapsed, utterly spent, resting on top of her. She could smell his hair, and put her fingers through it again, reveling in this moment. Languorous, he smiled and slowly closed his luminous eyes. He inhaled, smelling their mixed scent and he hoped he would smell it on her tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing, etc. etc.

A/N: Just to let everyone know; it might be a while before I update again- real-life calls. But I promise it will get the story finished, I won't abandon it. As always please read and review!

Chapter 11: A Blank Canvas

Cecilia awoke the next morning to an empty bed. Sherlock must have slipped out after she had fallen asleep. She stretched enjoying the comfort of the bed and the soreness of some muscles that had not been used in quite some time. As she let her mind wander an idea was slowly assembling itself in her mind. Creative inspiration had been missing from her life since she had arrived in London; she just couldn't paint or draw. She was suffering from _artists block_, if you wanted to call it that. Suddenly she sat up. She had an idea for a painting. She needed to start it. Immediately. She bounded out of bed and checked her supplies. She needed a canvas. She quickly dressed, threw her hair up into a loose ponytail and headed out.

She returned to the building hauling a large canvas wrapped in plastic. It was as tall as she was so it was a little unwieldy to maneuver up the entryway stairs into 221, luckily John was just returning from his own celebrations with Sarah.

"John!" she exhaled with relief. "I'm so glad you're here. Help me with this please?"

"Sure. What's it for?" He picked up the lower end and they quickly got it into the building.

"I just had an idea that I wanted to work on." Her eyes lit up.

" Can I see it when it's done?"

" Maybe. It depends on how it turns out." She laughed.

They got it through the apartment door and leaned it up against a wall in Mrs. Hudson's living room. Cecilia got out an old drop cloth and put it down in front of the canvas.

"How's your Aunt doing?" John asked in a casual but somber tone.

"I spoke with her a few days ago and she says she's loving it out in the country. She sounds a lot better too. I'm thinking of going to visit her soon, just for a weekend maybe."

"I bet she'd love that. Is she going to come back?"

" I think so. Her doctor is pleased with the recovery she's made, but he thinks she'll just get worse again if she comes back too soon. Maybe another month she said."

"Well, give her our love the next time you speak with her."

" I will."

" I'm going up to check on Sherlock. God knows what he's gotten up to alone in the flat all night."

Cecilia looked away and nodded. She suppressed a smile.

She went into her room to get her paints and glanced at the bed remembering what had gone on there the night before. She felt the fire of creative inspiration flare up inside her and she was filled with the desire to paint. She went back out to the living room and stood in front of the blank canvas. There was always a moment of apprehension before the first mark is made, the hesitation to mar something perfect, to eliminate infinite potential. Even when the idea is something great it could go wrong and end with something awful. Cecilia took a deep breath and remembered what she had conquered; she was that new person she had set out to be. She raised her brush and began to paint.

She was painting all day and the piece was really beginning to take shape. She was so focused on the work that she didn't notice when the sunset, she only realized what time it was when it was too dark to actually see what she was doing. She switched on the lights and took a moment to look at what she had done so far. She had to admit it was a little dark in content; a skull was not her usual fare, but it seemed…fitting.

-ding-

She ignored her phone; she didn't want to break her concentration.

-ding-

Cecilia sighed. She wiped her hands and picked up her phone, reading the first message

: John and I playing old case game. He needs your help.

: SH

The second message read

: John is sulking. He lost. Your fault.

: SH

Cecilia texted back: Can't come up. Painting. She set down her phone and was just about to pick up her brush again.

-ding-

: Prove it.

: SH

She held up her phone to the work she was doing and snapped a picture and sent it to Sherlock. She then turned her phone off. She didn't want to be disturbed until this was finished.

Sherlock looked at the image on his phone, intrigued by what she was working on. He was pleased that she had apparently moved past the block that had prevented her creative output since she had arrived. He wondered if he had had something to do with it. His mind wandered and the corner of his mouth curled.

"She really figured this out?" John interrupted; he was looking at the report on the animal control officer and his wife.

"Yes, John. Not everyone is as empty headed as you."

"Let me try a different one."

"Sorry John, I'll be back later." Sherlock slid his phone back into his pocket as he strode out the door.

" Where are you…" John didn't finish the question, as Sherlock was already gone. Unsurprised, John gathered up the papers and put them back in the filing cabinet. It was still a little early in the evening but he was tired, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and he had a shift tomorrow.

Cecilia heard a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated groan. One interruption after another! She was stalled on her work. She knew it needed something, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Every time she thought she was close something distracted her and she lost it. She sighed and opened the door. Sherlock was standing there.

"Sherlock? She couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"I didn't startle you this time did I?"

" No. The knocking kind of tipped me off." She stood aside and let Sherlock in. "Why did you come down?"

" I wanted to see your work first hand." He wandered into the living room where her painting was. "Is it finished?"

"Not yet." Cecilia answered in a frustrated tone. She approached the painting and stared at it. "I don't know how to finish it." She said aloud, but more herself than to Sherlock. She felt odd with Sherlock in the room. Even though they had been together, this was far more intimate. She tried to tap into those feelings that had made her want to start the painting. It wasn't hard for her to realize what those were, not with Sherlock standing right beside her. Suddenly she knew exactly what it needed. She put her paintbrush aside and dipped her fingers in the paint. It was cool and thick. She pulled her fingers back out of the paint and pressed them onto the canvas. She channeled the ecstasy of the previous night and moved her fingers in time to it.

Sherlock had never seen anything like this; he had never been part of a creative process before. He knew he wanted to be part of it, something tangible that would last forever. He strode up behind her. She had her eyes closed. He put each of his hands over hers on the canvas. Red paint soon covered his fingertips too.

.

John awoke when he heard the door to the flat open. He glanced at the clock; it was close to midnight. He had been asleep for only a couple hours. He got up and went out to the kitchen, needing a glass of water. The lights in the flat seemed harshly bright after being asleep. Sherlock was sitting in his chair by the fireplace, typing on his laptop.

"Where did you get off to?" John asked, shuffling to the sink in his boxers and housecoat.

"Nowhere important." He said dismissively.

"Right." John leaned against the counter drinking water and looked at Sherlock critically. He had been acting so strangely the past weeks. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock did not look up from his computer.

John was about to ask why Sherlock had red paint on his ear but he realized Sherlock wouldn't tell him anyway. " Goodnight." He was all he said and then went back to his room.

"Yes. It was." Sherlock whispered to the room.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus everyone; hopefully I can make up for it with this chapter, which I was really pleased with. As always I appreciate feedback; good or bad regardless. For interest: the case Sherlock speaks of was based on an entry in the book "Brain Fuel: 199 Mind-Expanding Inquiries _into_ _the_ Science _of_ Everyday Life" by Joe Schwarcz.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from the Sherlock universe.

Chapter 12: Raised Eyebrows

For Cecilia the next few weeks were a blurred cycle of missing Sherlock for days as he worked cases and the stolen hours of rapture in between. During the time he was absent she pretended she wasn't worried about him, fulfilling her duties as landlord and John and Sherlock's housekeeper. She visited with Sarah who, thankfully, hadn't tried to set her up again. She cooked and cleaned and took rent. She spoke with her aunt everyday on the phone. No one knew of her scandalous secret. As always, however, secrets have a way of making themselves known.

One night Cecilia was indifferently tidying John and Sherlock's apartment; she hadn't seen them for three days and she didn't really need to dust she just wanted to be connected. She made John's bed and gathered up the few items of clothing; she would run a load tomorrow. She thought it was just wishful thinking when she heard the door open. She poked her head out of John's room and squinted into the dark apartment. She saw a tall, dark figure stride into the darkened living room and her heart began to race.

"Hi, I'm just grabbing the laundry." She called out lightly.

"Oh! You're here." His voice was a little flatter than it should have been; it sounded like he didn't want to see her. Her heart fell a little.

"It everything okay?" Cecilia moved to turn on the lights.

"Don't!" Sherlock had caught her movement.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" Cecilia was struck with a sudden fear. She flicked on the light-switch.

Sherlock sighed and hung his head as the lights came on. Cecilia thought something looked a bit 'off' as she walked down the hall towards him. She slowly saw that there was soot on his face, and his eyebrows had been singed.

"What happened?" she tried to keep the laugh out of her voice, but failed.

" I solved the case, but I…got too close in showing Lestrade what happened."

"Go sit down." She rolled her eyes and closed the apartment door behind him. She quickly returned from the kitchen with a damp cloth. "Is John with you?"

"No. Sarah's." His pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his long fingers across his eyes.

Cecilia crossed the room towards him and worked her way onto his lap; straddling him, her knees held tight to him by the sides of the comfy chair; her loose peasant skirt flaring out and covering his legs. She gently wiped the soot marks from his cheeks and forehead.

"So tell me how you managed to do this to your eyebrows."

Sherlock breathed in deeply, letting out the breath in a low vibrating growl. He slipped his hands underneath her skirt and pulled her hips closer towards him. "The case was of three tennis players who reportedly spontaneously combusted."

" I thought that was just an urban legend." She couldn't help her voice getting breathy. She leaned a little more on him to continue to wipe his face, gently removing the bits of singed hair from his eyebrows and hairline.

"It is. There's always an underlying reason. This one was very tricky, though." He pulled at her hips again. "All three were non-smokers, all were in top physical condition. All three actually burst into flames while on the court."

"What was it?"

"You don't want to guess?"

She put the damp cloth down on the table beside the chair and began very slowly undoing the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. "I don't have the slightest idea." Nor did she have the motivation to figure out at that particular moment.

Sherlock grinned up at her, though his disheveled eyebrows somewhat marred his smug look. "The break in the case was when I found out they all had used the services of the same lawn care company."

Cecilia gave him a questioning look and proceeded to the second button.

Sherlock began to breath a little faster. "They were using sodium chloride as a weed killer, which is also a powerful oxidizing agent. Heat causes it to decompose and if it breaks down in the presence of something flammable it can burst into flames."

She moved to the third button and bent her head to kiss him gently below his ear. Sherlock didn't continue with his explanation, suddenly all thought of the case was pushed from his mind. Cecilia sat up; pleased with the expression she had put on Sherlock's face. "And what does that have to do with tennis players? Or your eyebrows for that matter?" She started in on the fourth button.

Sherlock sighed, his voice now husky. "It was their tennis shoes on the clay court. The friction of the rubber on the hard surface generates enough heat to set off the reaction and coincidentally provides a fuel for the fire."

Fifth button.

"Lestrade wouldn't believe my theory unless I demonstrated it for him, and the reaction was a little more…robust…than I expected it to be."

Cecilia paused in her steadfast undressing of Sherlock and laughed in disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. "The only upside is that I did the demonstration on Anderson's desk, _with_ Anderson's shoe." A mischievous smile turned the corners of his mouth.

Cecilia couldn't resist him with that look on his face; she swung her leg off of him and pulled him up from the chair. He engulfed her in a passionate kiss, pulling up the cotton tank top she was wearing. As they kissed Sherlock was stealthily moving her towards his bedroom door, items of clothing being shed as they went.

This time Sherlock was mindful to not let himself be overcome by animalistic ferocity. He took his time. He was as patient and methodical as when he worked cases. Finally, in the early hours of the morning they both collapsed onto the cool pillows completely spent.

Sherlock woke to the sound of the front door opening and the voices of John and Sarah. He looked at Cecilia sleeping next to him and he swore silently. He hurriedly got out of bed, slipped on his pajama bottoms and stole through the door with as much nonchalance as possible. He spotted the discarded clothes on the floor in a clear trail towards his bedroom and hoped John wouldn't notice.

"Sherlock? You're sleeping in your room now?" Asked John as he and Sarah bustled into the living room.

Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat.

"Have you seen Cecilia?" Sarah asked. "We were supposed to have breakfast this morning and we just tried her flat and she's not there."

"No. I don't know where she could be." He put on his best innocent expression. But he could see that their eyes fell on the clothes littering the floor.

"I'm just going to ring her cell." John had pulled out his phone and dialed. He gave Sherlock a suspicious look.

Sherlock shut his eyes as the inevitable happened.

-dingle-dingle-dingle-

Cecilia had left her phone on the kitchen counter. All three of them looked at it as it rang and vibrated against the hard surface. None of them spoke; the sound of Cecilia's phone ballooned seemed to fill the room. John hung up his phone and put it back in his jacket slowly. He stared at Sherlock expectantly but the detective avoided John's gaze. Cecilia stepped meekly out of Sherlock's room finally breaking the long, awkward, silence. She had put on his pajama shirt, as hers had been thrown down beside the fireplace. She didn't look at any of the three people in the room; her feet had suddenly become the most interesting things she had ever seen.

"I…uh….forgot about breakfast…sorry." She quickly picked up her clothes, grabbed her phone from the counter and made for the apartment door. "I'll just go…change….sorry." She slammed the door behind her.

John and Sarah turned to each other, mouths agape, matching bewildered looks on their faces. John turned back to Sherlock who stared daggers back at him, daring him to say something.

"I fucking _KNEW_ it!" he laughed. "Come on, Sarah, let's leave this den of filth." John said in mock-disgusted tones.

John and Sarah were laughing as they walked out under the awning of 221 Baker Street.

"Sherlock and Cecilia. Can you believe it?" Sarah shook her head.

"I know. But to be honest I think it's been going on for a while."

They laughed again but they failed to notice the all too familiar light-haired man leaning against the wall near them with his face hidden behind a newspaper. They failed to notice that he followed them with his eyes as soon as they had left the building. And they failed to notice the malevolent smile that spread across his face at the mention of Cecilia and Sherlock's names.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own none of the Sherlock BBC characters, or locations, etc.

A/N: Please read, and hopefully enjoy…and review…if you feel like it ;) I know this has been quite a long story, to be honest I never imagined it would be this long, but the next chapter will be the last one.

Chapter 13: Mrs. Hudson: the Prophet.

Cecilia was pulling luggage out of the trunk of a cab in front of 221 Baker St. and thinking about how much had happened in her life since she had last been doing this. Mrs. Hudson, calling her name, brought her out of her daydreaming.

"Cecilia, you've been staring into space for five minutes. Let's get those suitcases in and have some tea."

Cecilia heaved the two large suitcases up the stairs, relieved that her aunt was well enough to come home. Somewhere in the back of her mind, however, she knew that Mrs. Hudson coming home also meant that she would have to start thinking about moving on. Cecilia pushed the thought away. For now she was happy and didn't want anything to change.

After getting her Aunt settled in Cecilia put the kettle on the stove and got out two mugs.

"I've invited everyone over for a little _welcome home _party tonight" Cecilia told her aunt as she rinsed her hands in the sink and sat down. "Unless you're not feeling up to it?"

"No I think that's a lovely idea. Who's coming?"

"John and Sarah said they are coming, and Sherlock too, if he feels inclined, I suppose."

"I hope Sherlock wasn't too much of a handful while I was gone."

Cecilia hadn't told her Aunt of her recent affair with the brilliant man upstairs and she didn't want to now. She knew exactly what her Aunt would tell her; _"He's dangerous, irritable, he'll only hurt you." _And deep down she knew her Aunt was probably right. " He was no trouble at all; No more than usual anyway." She answered, hoping that she didn't give anything away in her tone of voice.

The whistle of the kettle startled her. She felt like it was raising the alarm of her omission. She quickly pulled the kettle off the heat and poured it out into the waiting mugs, dispatching the boiling snitch with pleasure.

Evening rolled across London. Cecilia finished setting out some hors d'oeuvres and getting the ice out of the freezer when John and Sarah knocked on the door.

"Come in!" She yelled.

John, Sarah, and Sherlock paraded into Mrs. Hudson's apartment; thankfully John and Sarah had agreed not to tell Mrs. Hudson abut Cecilia and Sherlock but they weren't the best people at pretending nothing was going on. Sherlock and Cecilia's eyes met for a moment when they walked in; Sarah smiled and had to look away, burying her face in the bouquet of flowers she carried

"Welcome back, Mrs. Hudson!" She said as she held the flowers up.

"Oh my, those are so lovely! Let me go get a vase for them."

"I've got something for you too, Cecilia." John added. He handed her a white envelope with a University letterhead on it. "It was delivered to our box by mistake."

"Oh, John, you shouldn't have." Cecilia joked.

" Well, you mean a lot to us, and you're worth it." He replied in overly serious sarcastic tones.

Cecilia rolled her eyes and glanced at Sherlock. He was stoic and hard to read, but Cecilia was sure she caught a glint in his eye and a twitch of the corner of his mouth.

"What's that?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she returned with a vase and set it on the counter.

"It's from the University of Victoria." Cecilia was puzzled as she looked at the letter; she had no idea what this could be. She had always wanted to go there for her master's degree but she hadn't even though about applying.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Open it!" Mrs. Hudson encouraged her through the mass of flowers she was arranging in the vase.

"Yes! Open it!" Sarah repeated.

Cecilia was curious; what could this possibly be? She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter. Everyone stared at her as she scanned it; her confused expression only deepened.

"Well?" John prodded. "What's it say?"

Cecilia was speechless for a moment. "I've been accepted to the Master's program I've always wanted to be in…my research supervisor must have submitted an application for me…but…it also says I'm being given a full scholarship, plus living expenses." She stared into the distance; this was incredible. There was absolutely no reason not to go…except…

"Well, it's fate! It's a welcome home party _and_ a congratulations party!" Mrs. Hudson hugged Cecilia.

Sarah grabbed the letter from Cecilia's unresisting grip so she could read it herself. Sherlock eyed the letter from over her shoulder; it looked legitimate, but he just couldn't believe it. A creeping sense of unease came over him.

Cecilia took the letter back and checked the time. "I'm just going to call and make sure this isn't a mistake; it's still early there, I should be able to talk to someone and get this straightened out." She went into her room and closed the door. Sherlock caught her eye as the door swing shut, he didn't like what he saw in her expression.

"Tuck in, everyone!" Mrs. Hudson motioned to the food on the counter.

John, Sarah, and Mrs. Hudson filled their plates and sat down. Sherlock joined them at the table but didn't feel like eating.

"Fill me in on everything I missed while I was gone, gents! Any exciting developments?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sarah coughed, choking on her drink. John patted her back as she cleared her throat. Sherlock gave her a dangerous look.

"Nothing unusual, really, Mrs. Hudson. Cases have picked up again." Sherlock stated with no emotion.

"Yes, and I tell you, Cecilia has really just been so lovely for Sherlock…and me." John paused for just a beat longer than he needed. "She's pestered him into being a great tenant. You'd hardly recognize the flat." Sarah smiled.

"Yes. I've heard she's been riding him very hard…to stop doing experiments in the flat. Sarah added.

"hmmm." John passed off his laughter as agreement. "And to put his books away."

"How was your stay out in the country, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, trying to change the subject.

"It was lovely; something that I really needed." She went on to regale them with stories from the little village near where she stayed until Cecilia reappeared from her room.

"Well, I talked to the admissions advisor…it all seems to be real." She almost couldn't believe the words as they came from her mouth. "There's just one thing…"

Everyone in the room went silent and stared at her expectantly.

Cecilia caught Sherlock's eye and then looked down at her hands. "Uuuh. I have to be there in three days; otherwise they have to give away my spot. I can't go; I can't leave you, Auntie, you just got back."

"Don't be foolish, Cecilia. I managed without you here for a very long time, and I can manage again. You need to take this opportunity."

"Of course you do, Cecilia, I don't know why you're still standing there instead of packing!" Sarah chimed in.

"We'll be sad to see you leave but you need to do this." John added.

Cecilia looked to Sherlock again; he nodded but couldn't meet her eyes.

"Well, that seems to decide it but there's not much I can do tonight; let's all just enjoy the party." Cecilia's throat felt tight and she fought back a sting at the corners of her eyes. This is what she had always wanted. And to have such an amazing opportunity…a full scholarship…her dream program. _"Why does it feel like I've made the wrong choice?"_

She filled a plate and sat down at the table. As Mrs. Hudson picked up the thread of her story and drew the attention of John and Sarah, Sherlock silently squeezed Cecilia's knee under the table. It was a gesture of reassurance and a promise that things would be just fine. After all, in this age of mass communications, it wouldn't be hard to keep in touch. She smiled at him, grateful that he seemed to understand.

With Cecilia busy all the next day packing and no case presently to work on Sherlock was tense. He pulled out a few books but abandoned them within a few minutes. Something wasn't sitting right with the world. He would never say anything to her, but he felt Cecilia's letter was highly suspicious. He opened up his laptop to check if anything interesting had been submitted to his website. He checked the most recent posts; there was one from this morning, when he read it he froze

- Lab accident claims the life of student at the University of Victoria.

Sherlock had a panicky trickling sensation down the back of his neck. This was precisely how he had felt when John had walked out of the pool change-rooms draped in explosives. He clicked the link; unexpectedly it brought up an instant message window. It was blank for a moment, but showed someone was typing and then a message appeared.

: It was rumoured that Sherlock Holmes was the worlds' only living heart donor, but that's not exactly true, is it?

Sherlock: who is this?

: Oh, now I'm hurt. I would have thought my little speech at the pool would have been more memorable.

Sherlock: Leave Cecilia alone.

: Damn. That's what I was going to say. Enough of this. Answer the payphone on the corner of Baker Street in five minutes.

Sherlock ran out of the apartment, his mind buzzing; trying to find a way to catch Moriarty; to prevent what he was certain was coming. He reached the pay phone just as it began to ring and snatched up the receiver.

"Moriarty.." He spoke with a deadly calm.

" Just listen Sherlock." Said the voice on the other end of the line. A lyrical laugh spilled out of the earpiece as a red laser sight danced up Sherlock's torso. "Don't worry. That's only there if you try to do something foolish." Moriarty sighed heartily. " Oh, my friend, what a gift you have given me. Remember what I told you at the pool that night? That I would burn the heart out of you. Well, you've gone right ahead and made that _poetically_ possible for me. I can't thank you enough…really. I arranged for your little fling to get into that program. _I_ am funding her studies. All you have to do is make sure there is never any contact between the two of you ever again." Moriarty laughed; it was chilling how quickly he went from seething anger to manic laughter. "Isn't it just such a simple plan? If you ever call her, write her, anything or if she tries to contact you then she will meet with a very unfortunate, and particularly explosive lab accident." Moriarty laughed again. "Bye-bye, Sherlock." His voice was nasal and saccharine and then the line went dead.

Sherlock swallowed hard then hung up the pone up. He knew what had to be done; but the thought of it twisted his stomach. He walked slowly back to 221b, methodically planning what he would say and do to Cecilia in the two days before she left. He had to make her hate him; otherwise the temptation to reach out to one another would be too great. He knew Moriarty would be watching _all_ channels of communication, and his archenemy was not someone who he could easily fool. The risk was just too great.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Brilliant and Broken

"…a truly brilliant mind, but it was brilliant like a fractured mirror, all marvellous facets and rainbows but, ultimately, also something that was broken." ~Terry Pratchett, The Hogfather, pg 29.

"I'm off to the airport." Her tone left an entire world of questions hanging in the air.

Sherlock kept his head down, stubbornly staring at the papers on his desk. His only response was the slightest of nods and a particularly vicious scratch of his pen across the page.

"That's it?" She asked, furious tremors contorting her lips. "Honestly, I don't know why I expected anything different from you. I thought you understood what an opportunity this was for me. The last two days, though, you've either been distant or horrible. I know you're upset that I'm leaving but I would think you could be a little more mature about this." Cecilia sighed, realizing she had made a mistake, anger flared in the pit of her stomach. "You are arrogant and manipulative and I was stupid… and I … and…don't you care? Did you ever care?" Tears began to slowly slide down her face. "No. Of course you didn't. You're the _Great Sherlock Holmes_, consulting detective and that's it. You will never be anything more because you are obsessed with yourself and you can't make room for anyone else." She walked out the door and paused throwing a last look to the brilliant man with the devastating cheekbones and shook her head. She added to herself because it was too painful to say aloud "_And I despise myself for still wanting you."_

Sherlock heard the door close and sat in the ringing silence of her words; the truth of them was distracting. He looked down at what he had been writing. A few words had become damp and blurry; these blue ink swirls were the only evidence of his pain. They were the proof that all he wanted to do was protect her. He took a few deep breaths to settle himself. Sherlock carefully, almost reverently, picked up the page and walked to the fireplace. He dangled the page before the flames and let the edges of the sheet catch before dropping it. He stood at the mantle for a long time that night; eyes locked on the dancing flames and Moriarty's seething voice echoing in his ears, taunting him. _"I'll burn the heart out of you, Sherlock."_


End file.
